


tread our little arcs upon our star

by Sroloc_Elbisivni



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: ADHD York, AND THE WORK SHE DOES AS A LEADER AWAY FROM THE REDS AND BLUES, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - York lives, Chorus (Red vs. Blue), Chorus worldbuilding, Friends to Lovers, I HAVE MANY FEELINGS ABOUT VANESSA KIMBALL, Matchmaking, Multi, OT3, Pining, Polyamory, Post-Season/Series 13, Slow Burn, Space Politics, Various OCs because there are more than ten people on Chorus and they all have names, [strums guitar], also paperwork, barely because i know so very little about halo canon, elements of halo canon, make that: enough pining for a goddamn FOREST, red vs blue big bang, seriously there is so much space politics, so much pining from three different sides, that's just a thing ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 68,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sroloc_Elbisivni/pseuds/Sroloc_Elbisivni
Summary: Post Season 13. Even with Hargrove on the run and a war ostensibly over, Vanessa Kimball has a lot of work left to do on Chorus. Luckily, the final battle brought along with it Agent York, who serves as both leader of the planet's revived intelligence network and an unwitting reminder that Vanessa's crush on Caro--on AGENT Carolina is absolutely hopeless. That isn't a problem, though, because she is going to be polite and professional and very much in control of the situation.That, of course, would all be much easier if York hadn't decided to go and becharming.





	1. and how begin, when there is no beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [How to Heal a Broken Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774229) by [Hinn_Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven). 



> Presenting, as my entry for the Red vs Blue Big Bang: fic for the leaky little canoe of a ship that has overtaken my heart. 
> 
> Follows Hinn_Raven's "How to Heal a Broken Heart"--the gist being that York survived, faked his death with help from Tex, and landed on Chorus to help with the assault on the Hand of Merope after seeing Epsilon's broadcast. 
> 
> PHENOMENAL art done by the fantastic and wonderful [ adobewanphotobi](adobewanphotobi.tumblr.com) GO FORTH AND LOVE HER
> 
> Thank you to steph who has been putting up with my rambling about this ship from the first "what-if" seven months ago to my paranoid freakout last night about chapter length. this would not be here without you.
> 
> This story is planned to be three chapters, updated every two weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _And how begin, when there is no beginning?_  
>  _How end, when there’s no ending? How cut off_  
>  _One drop of blood from other, break the stream_  
>  _Which, with such subtlety, such magnificent power,_  
>  _Binds the vast windflower to its throbbing world?_  
>  _…Shall we be bold, and say, then, ”at this point_  
>  _The world begins, the windflower ends?” rip out_  
>  _One bleeding atom, pretend it has no kin?..._  
>  _Or shall we, with the powerful mind, hold off_  
>  _The sky from earth, the earth from sky, to see_  
>  _Each perish into nothing?_  
>  \--Conrad Aiken, Preludes for Memnon, Verse XIII

Vanessa carefully balanced on the chair, hoping that today wouldn’t be the day it finally collapsed under the strain of a person standing on it. Andersmith, on the floor next to her, crashed a spoon against a pot that had probably been stolen from somewhere.

She’d…save that problem for later, and hope it resolved itself.

“I know you’re all eager to get to the partying part of this party, so I’ll keep it short.” A wave of chuckles. _Good, they must be halfway drunk already._ “We still have a long way to go to rebuild our planet and our homes, and to bring Hargrove to justice. But today, you _fucking won,_ and you _deserved_ it.” Someone started a wave of stomping, and Andersmith had to bang on the pot again before they settled down.

“A toast,” she declared, raising a glass of…something. It was red. She knew that much. “To our victory, and to the Reds and Blues for helping us reach it.” More cheers. “And to all the people that died to make it possible.”

A soft murmur, and subdued raising of glasses.

“But more than that, to all the people alive who fought to celebrate here tonight.”

A bit more excited raising of glasses, and a louder murmur.

“And to the look that was probably on Hargrove’s face when he realized we _kicked his ass!_ ”

Cheers rose, and she tossed back her drink, which turned out to taste like cherries and beer. She didn’t regret it as much as she had been expecting to, but that wasn’t saying a whole lot.

Vanessa carefully stepped down from the chair, which wobbled ominously but thankfully did not collapse.

“You—can put that back, right?” she asked Andersmith in an undertone.

He nodded. “Definitely, sir.”

Soldiers nodded at her and murmured congratulations over their drinks, but turned their attention as the newly promoted General Gowda stood to give a toast of her own, making it easy for Vanessa to slip away from the crowd.

It wasn’t that Vanessa didn’t like parties. It was that there were certain appearances you had to cultivate as a leader in order to maintain authority, and a lot of that was being dignified while other people were watching and not getting drunk in the same space as lots of other noisy, delighted people who always seemed to talk way louder than necessary and spill their drinks and—

Okay, it was that Vanessa didn’t like parties. She understood perfectly well how good they were for morale, and how important it was to celebrate victory, but as far as she was concerned she had done all the celebrating she needed to do when she was a younger woman and it was better for _her_ morale that she not have to endure them.

She had it down to a science. Turn up, make a nice, stirring toast, and sneak away to go take care of the endless list of things that _always_ needed to be taken care of.

That was going to be even more important now, with the battle over with and the UNSC hopefully on their way. Without a constant threat to unite them, the two sides would have to learn how to truly cooperate. Especially considering the UNSC was just as likely to take over as they were to help.

The base was quiet at night, and because the party had been a strictly armorless affair, Vanessa couldn’t shake the feeling of intense vulnerability. She kept walking, smoothly, steadily, determined not to jump at shadows.

A left, second right, and the third door down the hall was her office. She was not afraid of the dark. She was not afraid of the dark. She was not afraid of the—

“Oh _no you don’t!_ ”

Vanessa jumped so violently when the door slammed open that she thought her bones were going to burst out of her skin. Her hand grabbed frantically for the gun she wasn’t wearing. The familiar profile of Irene in the light from her office helped calm her racing heartbeat, slowly.

“Irene,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. “I was just—”

“Ms. Kimball, if that sentence doesn’t end with “turning around and going back to the party,” I don’t want to hear it.”

Vanessa was never going to understand how Irene could make her feel like she was eight years old and being scolded by her grandmother. Her secretary had to be at least a decade younger than her. “I went to the party.”

“Oh, it’s over already?” Irene stuck her head out into the hallway and made a production of looking both ways. “Strange. I don’t see anyone else leaving.”

“You’re here,” Vanessa tried, with the sense of fighting a losing battle.

“Because I knew _you_ would try sneaking back here to work on paperwork.” Her tone softened, just a bit. “Kimball. We _won_. You just made a very nice speech about it.”

“You know as well as I do that we have plenty more work to do.” Vanessa used her authoritative voice with only the faintest hopes of success.

“Work that will still be there in the morning, after you take some time off to _celebrate_.” Irene flapped both hands at Vanessa like she was a misbehaving chicken “Go. Shoo. Eat fancy foods. Talk to people. Get drunk and make out with someone in a corner, for gods’ sake, I don’t think anyone’s going to remember in the morning.”

“ _Irene!”_ Vanessa could feel the blush creeping up her face.

“Fine, skip the makeout, but _go_. You deserve this as much as everyone else. More, even.”

Vanessa hesitated for a moment.

“I’m perfectly happy to lock you out and drag you back.”

Vanessa held up her hands and turned around, heading out of the administrative section and back down the hall.

As she walked along, she started contemplating. This might not actually be horrible. Especially since she had seen Carolina around earlier. Talking to her sounded like a pretty good way to pass the evening

_Maybe more than talking—no. Stop that. Bad Vanessa. No making out for you. Definitely no making out with your best soldier._

Still, she was in remarkably better spirits as she wandered back into the party, fielding questions and more congratulations as she worked her way around the edges of the room to where she could see Carolina sitting at the bar, shoulders tense under loose red hair.

As Vanessa made her way closer, she saw the new freelancer—York, wasn’t it?—sitting down next to her. He looked open and relaxed, grinning the kind of grin Vanessa hadn’t seen in years.

Not just because of the way everyone on Chorus went armored, either.

She could see them talking, Carolina flinching a bit, and felt something between concern and anger bubble in her gut. She tried to move more quickly, to end the conversation that was so clearly making the other woman uncomfortable, when she saw York stand to leave and Carolina reach out to grab onto his wrist.

Oh.

Vanessa was just close enough when the two of them made their way out—Carolina still holding on to the other agent’s hand—to hear Tucker call out “Ooh, someone’s going to be getting some! Bow-chicka—ow!”

Agent Washington had grabbed his arm and was steering him away. Vanessa changed her course to go talk to him.

“He-Hey, Kimball! You’re at a party!” Tucker said, obviously delighted.

“Hi, Tucker. Washington,” she said, politely, as he pushed Tucker down into a chair and handed him a glass of water. There was no point thanking either of them for their efforts now. They’d be more likely to remember in the morning.

“Kimball,” Wash returned. “Nice toast.”

“Thank you.” She paused, considering how best to approach the issue. “I know you’re probably not interested in talking shop right now, but I wanted to ask about Agent York.”

Tucker opened his mouth to say something and Washington reached out to pinch him on reflex, looking considering. “He’s not a threat, if that’s what you mean. He was also an operative of Project Freelancer—an infiltration expert. He left the Project before I did, and he’s been a rogue agent for the past seven years. He came to help after he saw the broadcast—I’m pretty sure because of Carolina. They were…close.”

Vanessa fiercely ignored the way her stomach twisted. “I see. Do you think he can be trusted?”

Washington paused for a long moment.

“Dumb question. Wash doesn’t trust _anybody_ ,” Tucker chimed in.

“Shut up and drink your water,” Wash told him. To Vanessa, he added, “I don’t think he’s working for anyone else, or has any reason he wouldn’t help. Beyond that, I couldn’t say.”

Vanessa turned this over in her head, steadfastly ignoring the urge to go punch something. “Thank you, Washington. Sorry to interrupt you. Enjoy the party.”

“Yeah, Wash, enjoy the party,” she heard Tucker telling him as she turned around.

Vanessa headed out again, grabbing a drink on her way out. She didn’t care what it was, as long as it had alcohol.

A few quiet and dark hallways away from the impromptu party room, she sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall, thunking her head a couple of times.

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Of course she wouldn’t be interested in you._

Vanessa took a deep drink of what turned out to taste like Doc Vidal’s moonshine. It burned in a painful and viciously self-satisfying way. A few more swallows seemed to be in order.

_Stupid agents with their stupid history and stupid happy grins. Stupid you for thinking you might have a shot. Stupid you for getting a stupid crush in the stupid first place._

At some point, she realized passing out in a hallway would be extremely bad, and managed to haul herself back to her room, where it was also quiet and dark and she could finish the bottle and call herself an idiot in peace.

 

* * *

 

When Vanessa woke up the next morning, it was with an irritating hangover and a plan.

She had a planet to rebuild. Having another Freelancer was an incredible tactical advantage and needed to be treated as such, from an impartial standpoint. She was not going to make him feel unwelcome by being inappropriate in any way. She was going to be _polite_ and _proper_ and _professional_ and absolutely not betray how much she still wanted to know what kissing Car— _Agent_ Carolina felt like.

She had managed to keep herself and her feelings under control around one person for months, now. Doing it around another couldn’t possibly be that hard.

 

* * *

 

Carolina woke with a start, on the edge of her bed. There were strong arms around her midsection, and she was ready to panic before her mind finished waking up and grabbed on to the details of where she was.

How was it, that seven years and several thousand lightyears later, York still smelled exactly the same?

She let herself lay there for a bit, enjoying the warmth and the unfamiliar contact. But the sunlight was starting to reach through the cracks of the base and she knew there had to be things that needed doing.

“York,” she said, softly. “York. York, wake up.”

He grumbled and buried his face in her neck.

“York, I have to go. You have to let me get up.”

“ _No._ ” Even half-awake, his voice sounded desperate, and he gripped tighter. “Good dream. Don’t wanna wake up.”

“York.” She wriggled around until she could turn over and kissed him on the forehead. “You’re not dreaming.”

He blinked awake, slow and sleepy, and smiled at her. “Good dream, anyways.”

She couldn’t stop a smile from bubbling up and kissed him again before making a face. _Morning breath._ “I have to get up, which means _you_ have to let me go.”

“Awww,” he grumbled, but loosened his grip.

 

* * *

 

“So, what am I supposed to do?” he asked, after they both had more armor on. “You look like you have a purpose, the enemy’s probably going to lick their wounds for a bit, and I don’t want to get it anyone’s way.”

Carolina considered this as she tied up her hair. “You could go talk to Kimball. She’ll know better than anyone else what needs doing.” She sighed. “And, trust me. There’s a lot that needs doing.”

York pulled on his second glove with his teeth. “’n I guesh—bleah, that still tastes gross—I guess I can ask her about finding some other quarters?”

“What?” Carolina turned to face him. “You—oh, yeah. I guess you’d want your own space.” She turned away and reached for her helmet.

“Hey.” York’s hand snaked out to wrap around her wrist. “I told you. If you want me, I’m staying. I just figured it’d be nice to have a bed we can both fit on.” His voice grew uncertain. “Do you want me?”

Carolina didn’t bother with words. She just hugged him.

“ _Ow,_ armor,” he complained, but he hugged her right back. “Okay, then.”

 

* * *

 

“ _General Kimball?_ ” Irene’s voice came over the radio. “ _Agent York is here to see you.”_

Vanessa pulled in a breath. “He can come in.” She turned back to her paperwork.

“Knock knock,” a voice called a few moments later. Vanessa looked up to see a soldier in gold armor in her doorway.

“It’s open,” she said, dryly, flipping past a request-for-transfer form before closing the screen. “Hello, Agent York.”

He groaned, but came in and sat down anyways. “Oh, please, _anything_ but the Agent stuff. I’m retired. And…technically dead. And I got tossed out of the UNSC for insubordination before that, I really don’t think I’m meant for a rank.”

He was being charming. He was being clever.

He was about three shades of paint away from being one of her nightmares.

Vanessa could feel the smile growing inside her helmet, polite and sharp with teeth bared. A battle of words was just another battle she knew how to win.

 _Stop that_. She gave the part of her mind that was ready to fight a little shake.

Washington had vouched for York. Carolina had called earlier to vouch for York. And Tucker had definitely been right about the Freelancers and trust.

Besides, this time was different. This time she wasn’t a private looking up to some older, more experienced leader. She wasn’t an officer promoted out of necessity and desperate for guidance. She wasn’t even a new leader so busy wondering what the hell to do now that she never saw the knife poised just over her back.

Vanessa gazed straight at his helmet. “What can I do for you, then, York?”

“Well, you could let me know where Jensen dragged Delta off to. Other than that, I was going to ask what I can do for you.”

“Excuse me?”

York shrugged. “I’m trained in infiltration of all kinds. I was part of an elite fighting unit, same as Carolina and Wash. Oh, and I’ve got a little AI who follows me around who is both annoying and good at crunching numbers. I’m…flexible.”

Vanessa spent enough time around Tucker to be pretty damn sure York was grinning under his helmet.

She opened a channel to her secretary. “Irene, who’s running the intelligence department these days?”

“ _Um…_ ” A pause. “ _What with the merger, and the attack on the temple, and everything else—we don’t have an intelligence department anymore. As such. Most of the information we’ve been relying on lately has been brought in by Agent Carolina.”_

Vanessa sighed. “Well, at least we’re finding this out now instead of later. Do we still have the records from when it was functional?”

“ _Oh, yeah. Aaaand…_ ” the sound of typing. “ _Yup, we’ve got the Feds’ records too. You want me to send them to you?”_

“Send a copy to York, as well. Thanks, Irene. And when you’ve got the time, start doing an assessment of all the sections. We need to get our feet under us before anyone else gets here.”

“ _And that means knowing what’s about to fall over. You got it, General.”_

York tipped his head to the side the same moment Vanessa’s datapad chimed with the file. “How did she—?”

“I’ve given up questioning it. She most likely knows where Lieutenant Jensen is, if you want to ask her. As you probably overheard, those are the files are on our intelligence departments. Feel free to read through. It seems they’re woefully understaffed, so any suggestions you can offer would be a tremendous help. Is there anything else you need?”

He tapped his fingers on the table, a nervous tic that eased off her paranoia. Felix had never presented himself as anything less than self-confident. “I was going to ask if Carolina and I could share quarters. And maybe get a bigger bed.”

Vanessa ignored the pang in her gut and maintained a professional exterior. She had expected something like this. “Talk to Irene on your way out. Anything else?”

“No, I think that covers it.” He got to his feet. “Thank you very much for your time, Vanessa.”

Something internal, where she had kept her instincts tightly locked down, snapped.

“Oh, and York?” she called, before he could leave.

He turned around to face her, helmet tipped to the side.

“If it turns out you’re screwing us over? I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done. I’ll make you regret it myself.”

York snapped his head to attention and stared for a moment, then saluted. “Ma’am yes _ma’am_.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes inside her helmet as he vanished out the door.

She put the incident out of her mind, intending to focus on the work in front of her.

She’d only just gotten to the preliminary report for the UNSC when her door burst open.

“Irene?” Vanessa asked, looking up. “What—”

“The UNSC, sir. They’re on the line _now,_ in the briefing room, and they insisted on talking to Agent Carolina.”

Vanessa was on her feet immediately. “Contact General Gowda, let her know as well. Tell her to meet me outside the briefing room, and not to go in alone.”

“Yes, sir—wait, take this!”

Vanessa grabbed for the datapad Irene shoved at her on her way out the door. “What—”

“Latest numbers on resources. I highlighted the stuff we need the most.”

“I—” Vanessa’s head was spinning with half-formed plans. “We—thank you, Irene—”

“Go!”

 

* * *

 

Carolina inhaled and exhaled, counting to five before speaking again. “As I said before, sirs, neither I nor the simulation troopers intended to come to Chorus. We did not declare ourselves members of the UNSC at any point while on the planet. We undertook no actions in the name of or for the sake of the UNSC. And if you would just let me go get the people who are speaking for the planet, they can tell you that _after_ they tell you what—”

“That won’t be necessary, Agent Carolina,” one of the men onscreen interrupted. There were five people, four men and one woman, all in dress uniforms. The one who had spoken closed a file. “This debriefing is not complete.”

“This planet has effectively been suffering under a blockade for the past several years. Sir. Supplies are at critically low levels.” Epsilon snatched up a convenient memory and shoved it at her. “Regulations clearly state that in event of a ceasefire or surrender, recovery and assistance efforts must precede all military actions.”

“That may be true, but you yourself just confirmed that Hargrove and a section of his forces remain at large. The situation is still hostile enough that military matters must be given priority.”

Another of the generals chimed in. “We will attempt to send aid, of course, but…Agent Carolina, you must recognize the difficulties of our position.”

Before Carolina could tell him exactly how _difficult_ she wanted to make his position, the door opened, and the new Fed general and Kimball came in.

“Generals,” the Fed, said, facing the screen. “I’m General Gowda of the United Armies of Chorus.”

Carolina could read Kimball’s body language through the armor and catch the way she winced. Carolina could sympathize. Gowda was the popular choice among the Feds, and a good strategist, but a naïve diplomat.

“And I’m General Kimball, of the same.” Kimball stepped forward, datapad tucked into the crook of her arm. “It’s good to finally be able to speak to representatives of the UNSC.”

Carolina knows there’s no chance Kimball could have heard what she was arguing with them about, but she’s ready to thank her anyways.

“You already saw our message,” Gowda butted in. “You know we need help. What can you give us?”

And there was that not-quite-a-wince again from Kimball. “To add on to my colleague,” she began, tactfully, “we have found ourselves in difficult circumstances. We’ve assembled a list of the most urgent matters, if you’d care to see it.”

The generals seem to be exchanging a look over their respective video links.

“Agent Carolina can inform you of the current circumstances,” the woman announced.

Before either Kimball or Gowda could say anything, all the screens shut down at once.

“What,” and Kimball’s voice was as cold as it had ever been with Doyle. “ _exactly,_ did that mean?”

Gowda crossed her arms. “It means, _Vanessa—”_

“ _Don’t_ call me that.”

Gowda kept talking. “—that your pet freelancer over here—”

Carolina crossed her arms right back. “Don’t call _me_ that.”

“—has clearly been stepping outside her bounds with regards to contact with the UNSC. You agreed that we would speak to them together, and then you sent in her to do your talking for you? You rebels really—”

“Are you insane?” Kimball flung up her hands. “There are no rebels anymore, you—we’re on the _same side._ On a crumbling planet that needs help. I didn’t send Agent Carolina anywhere. I notified you as soon as I found out. I am _trying_ to work with you here.”

“Trying to work with me? You deliberately undermined my authority in front of the committee! They were going to help us!”

“Help? Is that _really_ what you think?”

Carolina internally groaned. < _Epsilon, I need you to call Wash._ >

< _Wait, what? Why?_ >

< _Tell him to get in here and talk to Gowda about the training schedule_. >

< _Again, why_ —> He finally caught the shape of her thoughts. < _Oh. Gotcha._ >

Carolina had really, really been hoping that Kimball and Gowda would get along better than Kimball and Doyle. It seemed not. “Hey!”

Both of them, now almost helmet-to-helmet, cut off the mounting argument to stare at her.

“The committee called me in as the highest-ranking UNSC member on the planet to debrief about Hargrove.” She took a deep breath. “They’re trying to send aid, but since he’s still on the loose and so are some of the pirates, the planet’s still an active war zone. There are regulations.”

“I told you,” Gowda said, triumphantly. “They’re going to help.”

“So regulations are more important than our people starving to death?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised that a terrorist doesn’t understand—”

“Oh, you do not want to go there.” Kimball’s voice was deadly serious. “You do not.”

“You really don’t,” Epsilon said, popping up now that no one who could order his retrieval was around to see.

“Shut up,” Kimball said, still facing off with Gowda. “You want to call me a rebel and a terrorist? Fine. But don’t you ever act like putting the lives of my people before goddamn _regulations_ is ignorance.”

“ _Your_ people,” Gowda said, voice equally as dangerous. “But when it comes to our leader…”

Carolina knew she had to interrupt before this erupted, but she could barely bring herself to breathe.

“General Gowda?” A steel and yellow helmet appeared outside the door. “There you are. I’ve been meaning to go over the—” He stopped, noticing the tension in the room. “Unless—am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Kimball said, flatly, at the same time Gowda muttered “Yes.” The two were still practically touching helmets.

“Great. General, I’ve got the roster laid out if you’d like to come with me…?”

Gowda pulled away from Kimball, still not breaking her gaze. “This isn’t over.”

“Fine. We can resolve it later.” Kimball held her head steady until finally, Gowda had to turn away to walk out the door.

As soon as the two were out of sight, Kimball released an enormous _whoosh_ of air that carried across her helmet’s speakers as a crackle.

Carolina reached out to try and place a hand on Kimball’s arm. “Kimball, I—”

“Don’t.” Kimball’s voice was dull and heavy as she moved away before Carolina’s touch could land. “I don’t want to hear it. They’re not going to help us. I figured as much. This really just confirms it.”

“But—”

“Agent Carolina.” The tone brooked no argument. “I have to go rework the supply organization of this entire planet, since it seems we won’t be receiving aid from the UNSC and there are no more pirates to raid. I’m sure you have things to be doing as well.”

Carolina knew a dismissal when she heard one, but couldn’t bring herself to leave until Kimball had walked out the door without looking back.

 

* * *

 

What with one thing and another—mostly wandering around, trying to grasp the layout of the place and figuring out where anything interesting or important might be—York didn’t get a chance to look at the files until that evening.

Irene had been as good as Vanessa had said, and when his wanderings took him back to Carolina’s rooms, the bed had been replaced with one that could more reasonably hold two adults. He ended up dropping down on it after he’d shucked his armor, settling back with Delta’s holographic projection unit to read the files.

Half an hour later, the screen blinked out of sight.

“Delta, I was reading that!”

“I am sorry, Agent York, but your blood pressure is rising alarmingly. I suggest you do a different activity until you calm down.”

“Fine. Pull up the lock simulation, D.”

“I do not think—”

“You wanted me to do something different, I’m doing something different. Pull it up.”

Delta hadn’t quite picked up the human habit of sighing yet, but he definitely gave the impression of one as he projected a fake holographic lock and York settled in to pick it.

What Delta still didn’t get was that when it came to locks, York had progressed beyond frustration. He’d screwed up every way he possibly could so many times that there was nothing new to get angry about.

Besides, getting angry with your hands in a delicate mechanism was just asking for problems. He’d learned how to tamp his emotions down when he was picking locks. If he wanted to release his anger, he would be hitting something right now. But this was something he wanted to be mad about, wanted to hold onto.

Delta gave him a new lock, with new variables, so York was able to lose himself in sliding pieces into one another and spinning levels one way, then the other, to get to the internal mechanisms.

He spent twenty-three minutes with his hands in the mechanism, muttering and cursing and coaxing and bantering with Delta before moving a ratchet too quickly caused an unpleasant _blart_ noise and turned the hologram red.

By then, he had himself calmed down enough that he could pick up the file again.

Delta threatened to cut him off again seven minutes later, and they would probably have had a pretty good argument about it if Carolina hadn’t stomped in.

“And how was your day?” York asked wryly as she stripped her armor piece by piece and stacked it next to his in the corner.

“I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

After she had the last piece, her shinguards, off, she started reorganizing his armor as well. York just raised an eyebrow and went back to arguing with the voice in his head.

When the last piece _clacked_ into place, she came over to the bed and flopped down on top of him with a groan, driving all the air out.

That called for retribution, so he tugged on her braid. She poked him in the ribs, he pinched the back of her knee, and they devolved into a quick bout of wrestling that he of course lost horribly.

But at least now she was marginally more relaxed, so really, weren’t they both winners here?

 _< ’Winning’ implies_—>

< _We’re both winners here, D. >_

“Satisfied?” he asked out loud.

She considered him from where she was straddling his stomach, then dropped a kiss on his nose before rolling off. “Slightly.”

Even though they had all this lovely new bedspace, she still squashed him up against the wall settling in. He sighed, resigned to his new position before tucking an arm behind her shoulders and drooping his head against her shoulder. “Ready now?”

“The UNSC’s up to something.”

“Gee, what a surprise.” He didn’t bother keeping the irony out of his tone. “What do you know?”

“I could only get in contact with a committee. They spent more time making sure none of us had accidentally implicated the UNSC in anything than trying to figure out what to do about Hargrove. And because he’s still on the loose, they’re still declaring this an _active war zone_.” Her tone turned bitter. “No supplies, no help, no nothing. They didn’t even bother telling Kimball that themselves—just hung up as soon as she walked in the room. So now she thinks I’m involved.”

He hummed against her neck. “I wonder—nah.”

“What?”

“Maybe just me being paranoid, but…” he trailed off. He was used to paranoia keeping him alive, but this seemed a little far-fetched even for that. “Just—at this point, even if they had been working with Hargrove—”

“If they what?”

“Even a company as big as that—he needs to have some of the brass on his side to have gotten away this long. But at this point they should be dropping him like a hot coal, not still siding with him since he’s so obviously going down.”

She tensed against him, then relaxed. “Sounds about right. It’s probably just regular war profiteering in action.”

“The delightful pursuits of the upper ranks.”

It was silent for a bit, both of them just breathing together while Delta rattled around in the back of his head until she asked, “And your day?”

He groaned. “Well, I met Kimball beyond just a hello-not-your-enemy. That was fun. She threatened me good and proper—”

“What?”

“I mean, I’d do the same thing in her boots.”

“I said you were on our side. I thought she trusted me.” Carolina sounded on edge, which was as close as she ever got to sounding hurt.

“It wasn’t all that serious.” He paused. “Actually, it was totally serious. But it wasn’t the first thing she said.”

“That’s—” She let out a huff. “I didn’t want that to happen.”

“Turned out fine. Ended up requesting us a bigger bed. He patted the mattress with his free hand.

“It is nice.” Carolina paused. “Wait, did you—to her face?”

“What, are you ashamed of me?” York kept his tone light.

She groaned and slid down the bed till she could bury his face in his shoulder. “It’s just—weird. Is it wrong that I think it’s weird that my commanding officer knows who I’m sleeping with?”

He chuckled, burying his nose in her hair. “Aw, you’re all flustered.”

“Shut up.”

“But then you’d miss my charming and melodious voice.”

“I’ll survive.”

There was a pause there that sounded like the sore spot between them seven years long.

“Anyway,” he said, moving on. “She sent me the files on the Chorus intelligence forces.” And that brought up a dull ember of anger at the back of his mind.

He thought he spotted a flash of blue out of the corner of his good eye, and then felt Delta’s corner of his brain flare sullenly. < _D? >_

_< It is nothing, York.>_

_< If you say so.>_

“Chorus has intelligence forces? How come she hasn’t had me work with them before?”

“Because they _don’t_.” And there was the anger, right on cue. His hand gripped her shoulder tighter, and he forced himself to relax his grip, breathing deeply and letting it wash through his lungs. “They’re pretty much _nothing_ at this point. Every person who ever worked in intelligence, for either side, is either dead or missing.”

Carolina sat back up, staring at him. Delta obligingly pulled up the hologram.

_< Can you send those to Epsilon?>_

Delta was silent, and it seemed almost—sulky?

_< D…>_

_< Of course, Agent York_.>

“What bee got up your bonnet?” York muttered, while Carolina flipped through the holographic files.

Eventually she finished and let out a soft growl. “Felix and Locus.”

“Who?” York asked. He had seen both names pop up in his reading—Felix as a provider of information and Locus as the subject of it. There was a strange lack of files on either of them, though.

“They were how Charon was rigging the war. Felix was an agent with the New Republic, Locus with the Feds. They passed themselves off as mercenaries, and worked together to keep the conflict going. Tucker got himself stabbed to trick Felix into confessing on video. It’s the only reason the civil war on this planet ever stopped.”

York let out a low whistle, rearranging what Tex had told him to accommodate the new information. It seemed like Tucker had undergone some growth from her stories of a horndog who ended up with an alien pregnancy.

“It definitely makes sense. They would have been able to tell the other who all the spies were. Eliminating them ups the tension, sows even more distrust—plus, can’t risk being found out.” He keeps his voice level, even though he wants to hit something. “Out of curiosity, are they both dead now?”

“Felix is, and we know that for sure. Locus is in the wind.”

“Dibs on punching him first.” York can’t stop his free hand from clenching. “They didn’t just—kill off the first few, keep the leaders from sending any more. They _arranged_ for them to get sent, killed off. They deliberately weeded out anyone who knew _anything_ about espionage, one at a time.”

Carolina squeezed his knee, and there was silence again while York thought. He’d be able to get more thinking done when he talked out his journal entry later, but he wanted to get a head start.

Carolina looked up and frowned thirty seconds later. “What are you planning?”

“Planning? Me? I’m not planning anything. What makes you think I’m planning something?”

“Your face.”

“My face is a work of art.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry, we cannot disclose any ideas before they have left the testing phase for fear of copyright violation.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll find out, you know.”

“Is that a challenge?” He grinned at her. “You know, I was trained not to break under any kind of torture—hey! _Hey!_ Tickling is—ack— _not fair!”_

 

* * *

 

York went and hunted down Wash the next day coming out of the mess hall.

In hindsight, pinned to the ground with a knife at his throat, he should have approached with more caution than walking up behind him totally silently and clapping Wash on the shoulder.

“York. What do you want?”

“Maybe—move the knife first?”

Wash pulled back and stood up. “What do you want?”

“Troublemakers.”

Wash’s blank face spoke volumes. “I’m sorry, what.”

“Okay, so are you aware of the state of the intelligence department of this army?” York doesn’t let him get a response out. “The state of it is that it _doesn’t exist,_ Wash.”

Wash fiddled with the knife ominously. “The mercs?”

“Yes. Maybe stop doing that in my face, it’s freaking me out. Look, you’ve dealt with all the recruits, right?”

“Yes. Your point?”

“I want to rebuild the spy network on this planet, which means I need spies, and since literally _everyone_ who knew _anything_ about intelligence got eliminated before my time, I’m gonna have to start from scratch. And I mean, I could let Delta do what he wants and run a comprehensive analysis of the behavior of every single trooper—”

Delta blinked up over his shoulder. “You are well aware that I have never once expressed wanting to do anything of that nature.”

“Learn to joke, D, it’s been years. So I could let him do that—”

“I would refuse.”

“You are _killing me_ with the interruptions here. Look, just—I want the creative thinkers, the problem solvers, The tricky ones. The quiet ones who pull shit when your back is turned, the bored ones who fuck around and sneak and skip.” He paused to think. “Except the reds and blues. Them you can keep.”

“You ruin all my hopes,” Wash deadpanned. “Fine. I’ll figure out some candidates for you.” He paused. “You have talked to Kimball about this, right?”

 

* * *

 

“Irene, wonderful and wise!”

Kimball’s secretary shot him a look from behind the desk York was pretty sure could survive a bomb blast. “What do you want?”

“I brought you coffee.” York set his peace offering on the desk in his best innocent manner.

“Points for that, but what do you want?” She made no move to reach for the drink.

“Is Kimball available right now? I just have a quick—”

“Define quick.”

“Do I really have to—”

“You and everyone else who comes in looking for General Kimball with ‘quick’ things that distract her for hours.” York hadn’t realized anyone besides Carolina had mastered vocal air quotes. He could feel Delta calculating a higher threat level for Irene in the back of his head.

“…Three minutes? Less, if I’m very charming.” _Or if I’m really not and she just throws me out._

She considered him from behind her helmet, then collected the coffee mug and carefully examined the contents. “She has a meeting with General Gowda that she needs to start preparing for in seven minutes. Be out by then.” The _or else_ was left unspoken. Delta raised her threat level another notch.

 

* * *

 

“You want to _what_?” Vanessa rubbed at her temple, catching a stray piece of hair in the callus on her palm.

“I want to offer a few of the troopers training in espionage tactics.” York was casually balanced on both feet a foot or so away from her desk, fiddling with one glove. “Your intelligence department right now is really just Carolina, and don’t get me wrong, she’s the best, but—you’re gonna need more than that.” He held up the hand and started ticking off points. “You’re already planning to scale back combat training with the war pretty much over, so no one would be dragged away that you need, you can never know too much about what’s going on, and right now you’re in an especially vulnerable situation with the tension between the two groups and the relocation. It would be easy to slip in an outside agent or find the weak points of someone already on the inside.” He spread his hands. “You asked for my help, this is how I can help.”

“I did,” Vanessa said sharply, “But I was hoping you’d be able to stick to collecting information on our enemies. I can’t say I like the idea of anyone spying on their own people. That sort of thing only breeds an overcontrolling government and more distrust.” And there’d been more than enough of that on Chorus already.

“Vanessa.”

“Kimball.”

“That is your name. There _is_ no government yet.”

She had to give him that.

“There’s—” York held up both hands. “You can figure out where this is going to go later. Right now you’re reacting to everything, and that’s about the worst position you can be in. You need a way to get ahead of the game, and the only way to do that is through information. Battles that could have had body counts in the hundred thousands, during the Great War? Headed off by the right data in the right hands.

“I’m not saying you have to condone spying on your own people. But right now, you don’t have anyone who even knows how it could be done, and that’s just asking for an outsider to come in and take over. I know how to play this game. I want to help you.”

Vanessa stared up at his helmet, trying to get a read on her gut feeling.

“What exactly does a person have to do to get thrown out of the UNSC’s intelligence division for insubordination, Agent York?”

It was a shot in the dark, and she wasn’t surprised when he failed to react. She could hear the grin in his voice as he replied, “I’m sure it would be something extremely classified, General Vanessa.”

                                                                      

* * *

                

Carolina got back to her quarters before York that night, and was reviewing the information Epsilon had managed to retrieve from the Hand of Merope when he walked in and started dumping his armor on the floor, humming cheerfully.

“I heard you’re recruiting,” she said, peering over the top of the holographic display. Epsilon shut it down, and then logged off.

“I am.” He pulled off the last piece, his chestplate, and deposited it with the rest.

“You could have just told me.”

“I like having my little secrets. And I had to get permission first.”

“That must have been a fun conversation with Kimball.” She settled down on the bed, stretching out.

“It was.” York huffed out something that could have been a laugh with more effort. “I need to up my game if I’m going to be running circles around the trainees, though. Kimball pegged me as ONI by the end of the conversation without me saying anything about it.”

Carolina couldn’t stop a grin. “She’s good at seeing things.”

“Don’t have to tell me that.” He sighed and dropped down next to her, squashing her up against the wall. She pushed him back to a reasonable distance and hooked an arm over his chest, burying her face against his back.

“You okay?” he asked, quietly, taking her hand and stroking it in his.

“I’m great.” She withdrew her hand and wriggled under the covers so she was facing the wall, and York followed.

“Carolinaaaa….” he drew out the last syllable in a sing-song, running his fingers through her hair. “I would have thought you’d be all over this, telling me exactly how to raise a pack of mini-spies.”

“Infiltration’s your area of expertise.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, the only reason this army’s survived without a dedicated espionage unit is you.” He paused. “Oh.”

“What?” Carolina couldn’t quite keep the edge out of her voice.

“Nothin’.” There were small tugs on her hair, and when she turned her head to look, York poked her in the forehead. “Quit it, you’re messing up my braiding technique.”

She huffed. “Why are you braiding my hair?”

“I keep waking up with it in my mouth.”

Well, that was a reasonable objection, at least. Carolina turned her head again, giving him full access.

After a few minutes, when the tugging had turned to something more like stroking and she was halfway asleep, York pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“What?” Carolina turned over, looking him in the face. He looked absolutely sincere, a small smile playing around his lips. “Why are you saying that?”

“Because it’s true, and I wanted to say it, and I wanted you to hear it.” He dropped another kiss on her forehead, then wriggled down and tucked his head under her chin. “Night, Carolina.”

She sighed, and buried her nose in his hair, wrapping her arms around him. “Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

Wash handed York a datapad at breakfast the next morning. “The files on the troublemakers, just like you asked. I hope you know what you’re doing with these.”

York hummed thoughtfully, flipping through the profiles and letting Delta absorb information so he could run calculations.

And then it really hit him that he was going to be training up a pack of mini-spies. All by himself.

Shit.

“Could you excuse them from training starting tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

York shut the files. “I’ve got preparations to make. Do you know where I could find Donut?” They’d never know if he was doing anything wrong if he didn’t even know himself. Might as well play to his strengths.

Wash stared at him for a while. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

 

* * *

 

The handcuffs were exactly where Donut said they’d be. York started testing the locking mechanisms while Delta hummed at the back of his mind.

He couldn’t understand all the numbers and calculations for compatability flicking by, but Delta assured him they were all necessary.

Any closer inquiry was met with a distinct impression of “shoo and let me work.” York rolled his eye and went back to checking handcuffs. He wanted pairs that were sturdy enough to not break, but not so sturdy someone without any prior experience would never be able to escape.

“We only need eight pairs, right?” York asked after he had gone through all the selections and found five pairs that were exactly what he was looking for and three that would do. The ninth had all the mechanics he needed but was covered in unfortunate pink fur. “Please say we only need eight pairs.”

_< I have begun cross-referencing the data on the candidates with the rest of the combined files of both the Federal Army of Chorus and the New Republic, and have in fact managed to eliminate four of the candidates as unsuitable for spywork.>_

“So we only need seven pairs, excellent.” York kept one of the pairs that would do for himself. “Do you have blueprints of this base yet?”

Delta, already two steps ahead, beamed directions for an abandoned storage closet right into the forefront of York’s brain and continued calculating as York made his way through the halls.

The lock was simple to pick, and fortunately not alarmed. He found a corner and shoved the handcuffs into it to retrieve later.

< _Given the information provided by Agent Washington and my own further surveillance-- > _

“I’m not going to get yelled at because someone caught you hacking stuff, right?”

Delta treated him to a frosty silence for implying that he could or would be caught.

“Fine, sorry, I take it back, please go on.”

< _I believe I have compiled and organized the partnerships with the least degree of compatibility. >_

“It’s like you read my mind.”

 

* * *

 

Vanessa found Washington’s report while shuffling through her morning paperwork.

_Cadets excused from regular training for training by Agent York, starting today:_

_-Kuntul Sastry_

_-Parikh Campos_

_-Imelda Bowers_

_-Sariah Starks_

_-Praful Thakkar_

_-Gener Valdez_

_-Nakiya Ashraf_

_-Yamka Wilkinson_

_-Terrance Sampson_

_-Pinuk Kulkarni_

_-Nada Shaikh_

_-Lucy Alcala_

_-Channary Russo_

_-Kasib Mohamed_

Some of the names on the list were more familiar than others. Vanessa was…fairly certain she had written demerits for more than a few of these people.

She was shortly distracted by a message from Grey and the rest of the medical staff with nutritional data and recommendations, and the subsequent negotiations with the kitchen staff. The report, however, was still on the corner of her desk when Carolina came by, and caught Vanessa’s eye as they were finishing up their discussion.

“Oh, and Carolina…” She held up the report. “I know Agent Washington signed off on this, but he’s had…quite a bit of exposure to the plans of the Reds and Blues. Are you sure this will work out?”

Carolina huffed out a quiet laugh. “Well, I won’t say you’re…wrong, exactly, and York does have the tendency to come up with some crazy plans, but…” Carolina paused. “Ah.”

Vanessa did not groan. She did not groan and she did not bury her head in her hands. It was a great effort on her part. She just took a very deep breath.  
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Carolina offered, voice still dry. “Delta will…probably stop him from kicking up too much trouble.” She shook her head. “Moving on from my impulsive partner—” And her voice was so warm when she spoke about him that Vanessa had to squash a surge of jealousy “—I just need to pick up a few files from my quarters before I head out. Can I take one of the mongooses?”

“Whatever you want,” Vanessa assured her. “I—this army needs anything you can give it.” _Great job, Vanessa. That didn’t sound lovestruck at all._

Carolina didn’t seem to notice the awkward way Vanessa covered up her slip, instead tipping her head from side to side like she was trying to hear something. Vanessa’s helmet crackled with the static of an opening voice channel.

_“Um. General, do we have any—keys? Around here?”_

“Keys?” Vanessa repeated. “Keys, as in…?”

There was a pause, and then Irene coughed. “ _Ah, handcuff keys.”_

“Handcuff…keys.” Vanessa blinked. “I, er, don’t think so.” Carolina was staring blatantly at her.

The “well that’s just _great!”_ was clearly audible from outside the closed door, and just as clearly not Irene. “What are we supposed to do _now,_ smart one?”

Carolina quietly cracked the door open enough for Vanessa to peer out.

Irene was sitting at her desk as usual, but in front of her, instead of the usual suspects of administrative aides and people with paperwork, were a pair of armorless cadets, wrists handcuffed together.

The one on the right frowned, and fiddled with the pencil tucked in the long black braid behind her ear. “Maybe the key’s hidden somewhere—”

“There _is_ no key, why would he give us a key? We need to get them off ourselves.” Her counterpart, who Vanessa recognized as Private Starks from Simmons’ short-lived squad, ran one hand through her short red hair, looking frustrated. “Maybe if I get some nitro—”

“You can’t blow off our hands just to get rid of handcuffs!”

“The longer I’m chained to you, the better and better it sounds!” Starks spun around, looking like she was going to storm off, only to drag the other private around with her.

The Fed yelped. “Watch it!”

Carolina carefully shut the door again as the two of them headed away, still bickering.

Vanessa stared at the closed door for a long moment. “…Ah.”

There was a strange wheezing sound from the other woman’s helmet that Vanessa was pretty sure meant Carolina was laughing.

 

* * *

 

York held the door open as Russo and Campos headed out, glaring at each other, and offered them a cheerful grin.

“You’re a jackass,” Russo snapped at him.

Campos just rolled his eyes and tugged on the cuffs to pull his partner along. After he had shut the door, York waited a moment.

Delta popped out of nowhere. “I would advise caution in the future, as Private Campos is currently pointing out that taking revenge on you would be easier when you do not expect it.”

“Whoops.” York wasn’t especially surprised. “Well, they got started on that quick.”

Delta blinked out and then reappeared. “Privates Alcala and Kulkarni are the second pair to escape their bonds.”

“Who was first?”

“It appears Private Valdez was already skilled at lock-picking. He and Private Shaikh escaped approximately a minute after leaving the room, but Shaikh insisted on his teaching her how to pick the lock herself by putting the handcuffs back on him.”

York let himself chuckle, then realized that would interfere with the next stage of his plan. “Aw, man.”

“Perhaps you could use Private Valdez to teach the rest of them.”

“Maybe.” York checked the time. “It’s been long enough, I think. Let’s get the last two in here.”

He opened the other door into the room where the candidates had waited.

“Kuntul Sastry and Praful Thakkar?” he called, looking down at a clipboard to give the impression of not knowing who they were.

The two candidates were sitting on opposite sides of the room from each other, glaring.

“By all means, after you,” Sastry offered, waving her hand at Thakkar.

They scowled at her, but stood up and headed towards York. Sastry came behind, stomping along in combat boots.

York stood aside to let them into the room. There were two chairs set up at a table, with keyboards laid out in front of screens. The two cadets each took a chair, Sastry on the right and Thakkar on the left, eying each other warily. York held up his clipboard to hide his grin.

“This is a test. You must work together to complete it by the end of the day.” As he talked, he moved so he was standing right behind both of them. “You may not permanently damage anything, including yourselves, each other, or anyone else on base.” The two of them were trading glances, and then looking at the screens. Delta pulled up fake typing programs on each screen, and York waited for both cadets to put their hands on the keyboards before he continued, stealthily pulling out his last pair of handcuffs. “Your time begins—” he leaned forward and snapped a cuff around Thakkar’s wrist, than Sastry’s, before either could react. “Now.”

They immediately jerked away from each other violently, the chain clinking as their motions pulled it taut. Sastry tried to jerk her left hand down towards her hip, and then was forced to reach around with her right and yank out a knife. Thakkar immediately jerked back and away, tumbling both of them to the ground with identical grunts. The knife skittered away across the floor, and York stopped it with his boot.

“Oh, and have fun,” he offered, voice light.

“What the fuck is this?” Thakkar snapped, shoving Sastry off them with their only free hand.

“I told you, it’s a test.” York bent down to pick up the knife, and set it on the table. “Don’t break my handcuffs, don’t break each other, don’t break anyone else. Get out and be back here by sunset, and you’ll get a shot at doing something besides running laps for the rest of your life. Good luck.” And with that, he ducked out the door before either of them could demand answers.

* * *

 

Carolina knew that sharing a room with York would bring new and interesting developments, but somehow, she hadn’t expected to come back to grab the files and find a pair of cadets trying to break in.

“No, no, you have to move it—”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job. I’ve been picking locks since before you were born.”

“You’re only, like, seven years older than me.”

“Exactly—shit!” There was a _zap_ and the one bent over the lock dropped his picks. “Who electrocutes a lock?”

“Someone expecting a break-in,” Carolina commented dryly, leaning against the wall. “Can I help you two?”

They let out identical yelps, spinning around.

“I—Agent Carolina!” The female cadet, in typically battered New Republic armor, scrambled to her feet. “I—we—” She stopped. “There’s no way I can explain this that doesn’t sound bad, right?”

“Sorry, we didn’t know this was your room,” the other cadet, said smoothly, rising to his feet. The lockpicks were already back in his pocket, and she hadn’t seen them go.

He was dressed like a Fed. Something about his voice was familiar. “I’ve seen you in the medbay, haven’t I?”

“Probably. I help out when Doc Grey needs an extra pair of hands.”

He didn’t offer his name, but Epsilon dredged it up for her. _< Private Kulkarni. The other one’s Private Alcala. They were on the list Kimball showed you.>_

Carolina sighed. It seemed York was wasting no time.

“Well, if you’re looking for Agent York…” She stepped forward and let Epsilon take a crack at the lock that she was pretty sure hadn’t been there when she left this morning. The door slid open easily to reveal an empty room. “…I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere.” She stepped through and let it close behind her, lurking by the door to eavesdrop.

“You _said_ he’d be in there.” Kulkarni’s frustration was punctuated by the sound of clinking lockpicks.

“Patti told me she saw him going this way! The other hallways in this part are still being worked on!”

“Well, we _checked_ the other rooms, _and_ we’d have seen him leaving. He probably crawled out through a hole in the ceiling or something.”

“Hey! Just because we’re not all fancy like your bases doesn’t mean you get to be rude.”

“I can _see_ holes in the ceiling, get off your high horse. Let’s go check the mess hall, maybe he went there.”

Carolina gave them a good half a minute to get further away before she climbed onto the reinforced chair to get a closer look at the ceiling tiles.

Only one moved aside when she pushed on it. Epsilon threw the plans for the base onto her HUD, and she let out a quiet chuckle.

There was definitely enough room for a crawlspace up there.

_< Tell Delta to pass on the message that if York falls out onto anyone’s head, he’s facing Kimball on his own.>_

_< Oooh, harsh. I’m on it._>

 

* * *

 

The end of the day found all fourteen cadets Washington had pulled out of training gathered back in the room where their day had begun, seven pairs of handcuffs lying on the table.

Someone had rigged up a bucket of water over each door. No one was about to admit to putting them there.

Alcala had pulled string out of somewhere and driven a tack into the table, and was busy making friendship bracelets and chattering away to whoever was closest. Thakkar was across from her, knitting something lumpy and purple and refusing to speak. Kulkarni was having muttered conversations in the corner, showing his lockpicks to whoever wanted a look.

“Valdez, you want new ones?” he called.

Valdez, stretched out on the floor, settled his head back further onto his arms. “I’m set.”

“Suit yourself.”

Sampson had pulled out a deck of cards from somewhere, and most of those not bartering with Kulkarni or talking to Alcala were deep in a game of poker, swapping gossip.

“Hey, Lucy, you said he’s rooming with Agent _Carolina_?” Sampson called, adding a couple more pennies to the pot.

“Uh-huh.” Alcala tied off the end of the cord and pulled the bracelet loose from the tack. “His armor was on the floor and there was only one bed. And she had the code, and there weren’t enough rooms for her to be staying somewhere else.”

“Do you think they’re sleeping together or is it just paranoia?” Ashraf tossed down a few cards.

“Well if there’s only one bed, they kind of have to be sleeping together, right?” Wilkinson examined her cards and then let out a disgusted sound. “I fold.”

“Yeah, but I mean—you’ve seen the way _Washington_ acts, like he expects someone to jump him any sec.” Shaikh considered her hand. “And while the war was still on, he was even worse. They could be trading sleeping shifts or something.”

“Maybe he’ll get better now that he and Captain Tucker are boning,” Bowers offered. “Ante up.”

Mohamed looked up from his hand. “He and Captain Tucker are boning now?”

“Weren’t they already?” Thakkar called out from where they were counting stitches.

“Palomo said it turned into a thing after the party.” Sastry set down her cards. “Bow down to my full house.” She grabbed the helmet they were using for the pot.

“Yeah, but that’s Palomo.”

“Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast. Read ‘em and weep.” Sampson spread his hand out. “Royal flush, pay up.”

Sastry narrowed her eyes before she shoved the pot at him. “Those who cheat at cards burn in hell.”

“Me? Cheat?” Sampson spread a hand across his chest. “I would _never_.”

“Cheating aside, I bet they’re totally sleeping together.” Kulkarni walked over and sat down, joining the circle. Bowers went to keep an eye on the hallway door.

“Yeah, we just said that.”

“No, York and Carolina.”

“Shhh!” Bowers held up a hand. “He’s coming.” She ducked around the door, out of range of the splash zone.

They all held their breaths, watching the teetering bucket as footsteps approached, accompanied by a cheerful whistling. Both paused just outside the door.

Sastry was at just the right angle to watch a hand reach out and push the door open before yanking back.

There was a collective deflating groan as the bucket clattered to the hallway floor before York walked in, dry as a bone and still whistling.

“Not a bad attempt. Hey, you’re all getting along!”

The cadets in the card circle immediately scooted back and away from each other, a few scrambling to their feet.

“Glad to see you all made it out. Looks like I borrowed this for nothing.” He held up a key and then dropped it into his pocket. Ashraf shot a glare at Starks, who ignored her.

“Anyway, I bet you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today.” He strolled forward, collecting the handcuffs.

“Because you’re a sadistic, kinky bastard?” Sastry muttered under her breath.

“Oh, you wound me.” He held up one pair and squinted at it. “But no. I’m sure you’ve all realized by now that even with combined forces, your army’s…missing some things. One of those would be a functional intelligence department.” York finished clearing off the table. “I would like to train you up to be that intelligence department.”

“You want to what now?” Wilkinson stared at him. She was hardly the only one.

“None of us have ever _worked_ in intelligence, though.” Russo sounded irritated.

“I’m sure you’ll pick it up quickly.” He paused. “Of course, if you don’t _want_ to, you can always go back to running laps and the same boring drills all day…” The sentence trailed off meaningfully. No one said anything.

“Great. Then I expect to see you all here tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp. Oh, and stay out of my room. Carolina sleeps there too, and she gets tetchy about security breaches.” He wandered back out of the room with the handcuffs, still whistling. His foot bounced off the bucket as he went.

“He kept the handcuffs.”

“I get the feeling we’re going to see them again.”

A pause.

“Anyone else feel like getting some revenge?”

 

* * *

 

Vanessa took a very deep breath, thought longingly of matches and lighters, and flicked her fingers to banish the many, many complaints from her HUD.

_“General, Agent York has arrived.”_

“Send him in. And then please find General Gowda, convey my apologies, and ask if she would be willing to meet with me. And then apologize again for good measure. Please.”

“ _I will go do that._ ”

Another complaint popped up on her HUD as she watched, so she sighed and pulled her helmet off altogether, setting it on her desk.

York appeared in the doorway, grinning cheerfully when she met his eye.

"York," Vanessa said, levelly. 

"Vanessa," he returned, still grinning. He wasn't wearing armor, and his expression was bright and open.

"What, exactly, has been happening on my base?" She had hoped that sending the Reds and Blues on scouting missions would keep the base somewhat quiet for a couple of days. That had been ruined in short order by the one-sided prank war that had overtaken the complex in the past week. No one seemed to want to risk Dr. Grey’s wrath by interfering with the med bay, or Car— _Agent_ Carolina’s by destroying the room she shared with York, but everywhere else had turned into a mess of booby traps and slippery floors. They disrupted the various training sessions, they interfered with the work of the cooks—Gowda was taking enormous issue with not being consulted beforehand, even though technically Wash did have the authority to arrange whatever sort of specialized training he pleased—it was sheer luck that the armory hadn’t exploded yet.

And all of the cadets that York had arranged to pull out for training had taken to trailing him around the base—

“—like, like—” Vanessa waved a hand, trying to find the right word. “Like ducklings!”

“Ducklings?” York had listened without interrupting to the rest of her lecture, but somehow, this was the sticking point. The grin returned in full force, and Vanessa told herself firmly that it was _not_ charming.

“What is going on?” she demanded, to keep from being affected.

“Oh, they’re after me,” he said, brightly.

Vanessa paused. “After you.”

“They’re trying to catch me.”

“Your trainees are trying to catch you…with pranks.” She was uncomfortably reminded of the time the captains and their squads had followed Felix around for three days straight.

“I _know_. Isn’t it great?” His grin seemed to increase by another watt. “I mean, I thought they might try it, I just didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

“You’re _pleased_ about this.” She made it a statement, but it was definitely something of a question.

Movement outside the door caught her eye, but she made sure not to look too obviously as the door cracked open an inch or two.

“They’re learning about surveillance, pursuit, and outmaneuvering someone sneakily. All on their own, too!”

“And if they do manage to catch you?”

“It should make them feel better.”

“You’re a bit reckless with your own safety, aren’t you, York?”

“Who, me?”

Vanessa reached up to grip the bridge of her nose in a move that was meant to hold off a headache, and caught a glimpse of the door opening further, Private Alcala standing on her tiptoes outside it to balance a bucket on top.

Of course this was happening while Carolina was off base on a scouting mission. Although Vanessa had the sudden, foreboding feeling that she might actually have approved.

She pulled the hand away from her nose and looked back at York, who was still grinning indefatigably.

“I can understand your motivations, but this has gone too far. I want this ended, now, before anyone gets seriously hurt,” she told him, flatly. “And from now on, I’m forwarding every complaint I get to you.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Just…” she sighed deeply, suddenly at the very end of her patience. “Just…go away.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He waved an almost-salute and turned around to go out the door. She decided not to warn him.

He didn’t seem to need it, anyways, shoving the door quickly enough that the bucket fell down just outside it. Vanessa chuckled despite herself.

He looked back at her and winked his good eye before stretching his legs to step over the spilled water.

As soon as his foot came down, it slid out from under him, a startled expression flashing across his face. She ended up watching as he fell flat on the floor and skidded another couple of feet, all limbs splayed out.

There was the faint sound of cheering from outside her office, and Vanessa put her head down on her desk and groaned.

 _“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DESK?!”_ For someone who hit a grand height of five foot four in full armor, Irene could muster up quite the yell.

“I get the feeling running is your best option right now,” York said, in the silence after the yell.

“And _you._ ”

“Probably mine, too.”

 

* * *

 

“Epsilon. _Epsilon._ Have you found the files yet?”

“No. I haven’t, will you just calm down?”

Carolina drummed her fingers on the table. The compound was supposed to be abandoned now that so much of Charon’s forces had been disposed of, but there were definitely some pirates still running around.

There weren’t enough of them to mount attacks on the army’s main forces, and the remaining civilian areas were fairly well-defended. They’d only get more so as the soldiers started trickling back to civilian life. So if any of the ones left alive were looking for supplies, odds were they’d come back to the bases.

Carolina was kind of hoping they would. Punching space pirates sounded pretty good right now, after a week of _nothing_.

Nothing informative, at least. The other bases had some supplies, and even a ship or two, and she’d marked them accordingly so they could be retrieved later.

Still, they were only prolonging the inevitable. Chorus needed a permanent solution—and enough supplies to last until the colony could support itself again. Which meant that they needed the UNSC. Who refused to get off their _lazy butts_ and risk their reputation—

“Done.” Epsilon flickered into place.

“Great. Any information on where Hargrove would have gone? Or anything useful?”

Epsilon flickered a couple times. “Nothing unencrypted. I can look when we get back to base, but—someone’s here.” He blinked out.

Before Carolina could demand answers, a map of the complex lit up in her head, one of the doors now open. Epsilon highlighted a path that would get her out without running into the new arrivals. Carolina immediately ignored that and headed towards the entrance instead.

 _< No! No no no, what are you doing? Go the _other _way! Go_ that _way! >_ He superimposed a blinking bright arrow pointing down a hallway to redirect her. She ignored that, too.

 _< You’re gonna get _caught _! >_

 _< No. No I’m not.>_ She stopped just outside the entrance hallway, waiting balanced on the balls of her feet.

 _< You’re gonna get caught, and you’re gonna get stabbed in the leg _again _except this time I’m going to have to tell York— >_

__

“Epsilon, shut _up,_ ” she growled.

“Hey, Fred, did you hear something?”

Carolina growled in frustration, then dove out into the hallway and slammed the first soldier into the ground.

There were only three soldiers in the room, and she managed to take them all out pretty quickly and without any enhancements. The second went down with a shot to the leg and the third she just punched in the gut and pinned, slamming his head back into the floor.

“I’m not in a very good mood, so let’s keep this quick. Where. Is. Hargrove.”

“I—I don’t—I’m not—”

“You’re wasting my time here…” She dragged him up by the front of his armor, then made like she was going to slam him into the ground again.

“ _I don’t know!_ ” he yelped. “I don’t know, he ditched us all—we just came here looking for supplies, we got left behind—”

“So you’re useless to me.”

“Yes! I mean, no, I mean—”

Carolina slammed his head back into the ground and stood up, still feeling frustration crawl under her skin.  

 _< Feel better?>_ Epsilon asked her, sarcastically.

“Peachy,” she grumbled, kicking the pirate’s helmet. “Can you get any info off this guy? Radio channels, anything?”

He went quiet for a second, and then her earpiece crackled with static as Epsilon keyed her into the frequency the pirates had been using. “ _—inez, report. Martinez, report. What the hell is going on in there?”_

Carolina held her breath, even though Epsilon probably hadn’t bothered to make the connection two-way.

“ _Dammit. Everyone, guns up. We’re moving in. Johnson, call Keddersville, let them know we might need reinforcement._ ”

Carolina swore, softly and viciously. _< How many are there?>_

_< Ten, maybe twelve? Some of the radio signals are fritzing, it’s too hard to tell.>_

She didn’t know if she could fight that many, especially if they managed to get their reinforcements. _< What’s the status of the speed boost?>_

_< I can give you…maybe four seconds.>_

It would have to do.

Four seconds of speed and five minutes of sneaking around later, Carolina stopped at the Mongoose to catch her breath.

“How quickly can I make it back to base?” she asked. Her bones were aching and her head was spinning from using the speed boost, but she had to get back to base. She had to.

_< Three hours, if you push it.>_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can be found on [ Tumblr ](www.sroloc--elbisivni.tumblr.com) duct-taping this canoe together.


	2. one chaos and another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time Carolina got back to base, York had come out of hiding and convinced the ducklings—he was never going to call them anything else, thank you Vanessa—to agree to a truce in exchange for a cessation of handcuffing. He’d been planning to let up anyways, since they all had a pretty good handle on lockpicking by now, but he wasn’t going to tell them that.
> 
> So he was in the motor pool trying to establish a daily routine for the look of things when Carolina came roaring in and almost tripped jumping off her Mongoose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _They will perish:_   
>  _The drop of blood, the windflower, and the world;_   
>  _Sound will be silence; meaning will have no meaning._   
>  _The blade of grass, in such a light, will grow_   
>  _Monstrous as Minotaur; the tick of the clock,-_   
>  _Should it be taken as the clock’s dark secret,-_   
>  _Is chaos and catastrophe; the heart_   
>  _Cries like a portent in a world of portents,_   
>  _All meaningless and mad._   
> 

By the time Carolina got back to base, York had come out of hiding and convinced the ducklings—he was never going to call them anything else, _thank_ you Vanessa—to agree to a truce in exchange for a cessation of handcuffing. He’d been planning to let up anyways, since they all had a pretty good handle on lockpicking by now, but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

So he was in the motor pool trying to establish a daily routine for the look of things when Carolina came roaring in and almost tripped jumping off her Mongoose.

She staggered, but stayed upright and tossed the keys at the kid working the desk. “Where’s Kimball?”

The kid stammered, and York stepped closer, letting Delta feed him an answer. “In her office, still. What happened?”

“Nothing good.” Carolina moved towards the door of the motor pool, York trailing behind her.

* * *

 

“There are more pirates on planet than we thought.”

Vanessa held up her hand before Carolina could go any further, then pressed the intercom button on her desk. “Irene, contact Gowda and tell her I need to meet with her. It’s urgent. Agent Carolina, don’t say anything else until she gets here.” She glanced at the door, and blinked. “York, what are you doing here?”

“Indulging my natural curiosity.”

“He should hear this too,” Carolina said firmly. “I’d get Wash in here if he was on base.”

“If they’re at the crash site, we might be able to teleconference them in,” Vanessa offered, thinking fast. “I’ll meet Gowda in the armory, it’s got a screen.”

“You won’t be able to lock down the information that way,” York pointed out.

“I’ll worry about that later.”

“If the pirates have a source within—”

“I’ll _worry about it later_.” Vanessa let her irritation leak through. “We need a show of trust if we’re going to get anywhere.”

York looked worried. “It’s possible to have a show of trust—”

“ _Agent York,_ ” she snapped. “If you’re going to insist on repeatedly questioning my judgment, you are welcome to leave.”

York looked taken aback for all of three seconds before his face smoothed over into an appropriate “superior-officer-speaking” mask. “Of course. General.”

Vanessa set her jaw and moved towards the door. York stepped out of her way, keeping his eye fixed on the opposite wall.

She was being entirely fair. The risk couldn’t be all that great, and keeping knowledge of a potential danger away from the troops who might be most directly affected was dangerous. Vanessa had thought that even before York suggested locking down the information. His suggestion only made her surer that she had the right idea.

She stopped herself from examining that last thought too closely. She stopped herself from regretting how York wouldn’t look at her, too.

 

* * *

 

Gowda was at the armory when Vanessa got there, York and Carolina on her heels. The screen was already set up, the reds and blues descending into bickering on the other end.

Vanessa planted her feet and pointed her gun towards the ground. “Go ahead, Agent Carolina.”

Carolina turned towards the screen with a steady stance. York lurked behind her near the doorway, something flashing in his hands.

“I just got back from the second of three planned investigative missions around the pirate bases we’ve managed to locate. I’d reached my final stop, fifty kliks east of the Communications Temple, and begun extracting what information remained on base. When I was leaving, a squad of pirates arrived. There were more of them than I could dispatch alone—a three-man initial recon team, and as many as twelve more outside, ready to sweep the base—so I had to retreat. What’s more, they were ready to call for reinforcements.” Her tone tightened. “From Keddersville.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Tucker chimed in, right on schedule, “Uh…am I missing something?”

“Keddersville is a civilian base,” Vanessa said, voice low. “No troops are stationed there. None ever have been.”

“My point precisely.” Carolina sounded brisk and clinical, the epitome of a reporting soldier. “That scouting mission was well-supported. Well-organized. _If_ there were enough pirates to act as reinforcements for fifteen people left on this planet after that last battle, they should be running scared. Trying to regroup. Not scouting and sweeping bases. And definitely not available as reinforcements.”

“They’ve infiltrated the civilian population,” York said, softly.

“Uh…can they do that?” Simmons asked.

“Easier to get into than the military itself. We have to keep track of our people. The population centers are messy. Scattered. It’s not uncommon to get people trickling in from outlying areas it’s only just become safe to travel from.” Vanessa’s mind was whirring as Gowda clarified things brusquely, and when the realization hit, she blurted it out.

“They’re getting more people onto the planet.”

“Uh…can they _do that?”_ demanded Grif.

Vanessa knew the answer to that all too well. “Now that the tractor beam’s down, there’s nothing physically stopping them. And until we can reclaim some of the ships from Crash Site Alpha or regain access to the satellite network, there’s been nothing we can do to monitor the airspace, either.”

“Bad news here, then. There are no functional ships.” Wash’s voice was as grim as usual. “We assumed the pirates had taken them and left, but if what you say is true—”

“They’ve been using them to get more troops on planet, or make sure we can’t leave.” Gowda sounded exhausted. “Is this ever going to end? Are they always going to be one goddamn step ahead of us?”

“It looks like it.” Vanessa didn’t catch which one of the troopers said it, so she just glared at them all.

Wash shot a glare of his own in the direction of the Reds. “We’ll do one last sweep to see if there’s anything that we may have overlooked, and then report back to base.”

“No. You should go to Keddersville, scout out the surrounding area, see if you can figure out where in the woods they’re hiding,” Gowda ordered.

“They won’t be in the woods,” Vanessa pointed out. “It’s far more likely that they’ve blended with the populace—”

“Is it really? And would you be so quick to suggest that if the city hadn’t had an affiliation with the Federal Army in the past?” Gowda turned to stare down Vanessa, her visor unreadable. “Besides, civilians aren’t idiots. They would have noticed a group of people descending at the same time.”

“With all the refugees roaming the planet? These pirates aren’t idiots either.”

“Hargrove has to be scraping the bottom of the barrel for recruitment here. He’s lost everything—”

“Or he has nothing left to lose, and he isn’t even _bothering_ with subtlety anymore—”

“—and I _will not start a witch hunt in one of the last remaining peaceful centers of this planet._ Kimball.” Gowda’s voice hardened to a razor-sharp point. “Tell me, is it really more likely that they would have bothered to spend time and effort insinuating themselves into the general populace? Or that they’ll have set up just outside it, where they can access the resources with fewer worries about getting caught?”

Vanessa hated to—no, she didn’t hate it, because she was _perfectly capable_ of being a responsible adult and professional and a _general_ and admitting when someone had a valid point despite her personal feelings on the matter. Vanessa was able to _recognize_ that Gowda had a point.

“Alright,” Vanessa conceded, then turned to the screen. “Keep an eye out for caves. The New Republic made use of the system when we—when they were established in that area. I can send the lieutenants to meet you.”

“Oh, god, no.”

“Yes! More friends!”

“You can send a delegation that we should take the time to agree upon _together,”_ Gowda said, an edge in her voice.

Vanessa made herself take a deep breath, remembering that Gowda was younger than her, new to total command, and fighting to make sure she couldn’t be cut out of the process. “Right. Forgive me for not thinking to consult you before saying that.”

There was an awkward silence. York shifted at the back of the room, and Vanessa caught a flash out of the corner of her visor as the knife he had been fiddling with vanished into his sleeve.

“Right. We’ll just…let you two work it out together. Crash Site Alpha out.” Wash cut the feed, and the screen went blank.

“We should also accelerate plans to investigate the remaining alien sites,” Gowda said into the following silence. “If the pirates realize that the weaponry is now fully functional, our one critical advantage could be gone as well.”

“Right. I’ll speak to Dr. Grey about it while you select a few candidates to go meet the reds and blues.”

“Shall we say…two each?”

“Fine by me.” An awkward silence hung.

“They know I know about them,” Carolina said, breaking the quiet. Her voice was subdued. “I ambushed the first three. As soon as the others wake them up…”

Vanessa took a _very_ deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. “We’ll deal with it.”

“You can’t stop them from getting onto the planet, but if you can figure out where they’re organizing, or where they could organize, you might be able to cut them off,” York offered.

Vanessa’s mouth turned down under her helmet. “York. Do you know how much of this planet is uninhabited? Or how many bases the New Republic alone has had to abandon? We’re going to have to either cut this infestation off at the source or draw them out into the open to get rid of them. They can hide for a long time.”

“Well, they can’t hide in Keddersville. We know they’re there now. It’s only a matter of time before we find the rest.” Gowda spoke with total confidence. “Kimball—my office in an hour to discuss strategy?”

“I’ll be there.”

Vanessa stood in the armory for a while after the other general had left, tapping her fingers along her pistol as she tried to nail down her thoughts. Carolina waited just on her periphery, watching the door and her back without being obtrusive. York…

“Vanessa?” York had come closer, broadcasting his movements like he was worried she would be jumpy. She couldn’t blame him. His voice was soft, designed to not carry. “I hate to be the one to bring it up, but—is it impossible that the pirates could have a mole within the army?”

“I’d like to think not.”

He didn’t need to point out that she hadn’t said ‘no.’ The look he gave her did that quite well. “This news is going to only spread faster once you announce the mission.”

“I know. Hopefully, it’ll make any plants a little more cautious about pulling anything.”

“And keep them from slipping up and getting caught?”

“I would rather force them to curtail their behavior instead of letting them get people killed because they think they can get away with it.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Alright, then. I’ll just…go back to training the ducklings.”

A snort escaped, despite her best intentions. “Please tell me you’re not actually calling them that.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I am. It’s the best thing I’ve heard since I found out two of the people I thought were dead were actually alive.”

The joke fell a bit flat at the reminder of the history he was carrying around. York looked away first.

“Anyway, I just…yeah. I’ll go. Good luck with your meeting.”

Vanessa wanted to stop him, to ask him if he thought she was doing the right thing, but she squashed the impulse. He kept doing and saying all the right things…or all the wrong ones. She wasn’t ready to let him—let anyone—that far into her head. She’d made that mistake before.

He stopped to murmur something to Carolina on his way out. Vanessa waited to see if she would follow her…partner, but Carolina just nodded and said something Vanessa couldn’t hear. Carolina stayed where she was, a pillar of certainty and silent strength, long after York’s shadow had vanished down the hall.

“Will you stay?” Vanessa asked her, on her own way out of the motor pool. “Just—just for a couple of days. Let us figure out what our next course of action should be.” _Let me figure out what’s going on._

“Of course,” Carolina told her, like there had never been any question, and Vanessa breathed a little easier.

* * *

 

York had the rest of the day to try and track down all the ducklings separately, of course, but that was no fun, and he wanted to see how good they were with information next. So he made sure to mention to one of the quartermasters he knew was friendly with Kulkarni that he was planning to give all his trainees a little surprise at fifteen hundred hours.

So of course, when he showed up at fourteen hundred half of them were there trying to rig the room into a trap and the other half were conspicuously absent. Probably in hiding.

“I thought we had agreed to a ceasefire,” York said from the doorway. He had to take a step back when Russo popped up with a pair of scissors pointed at his nose. Delta dutifully ranked her first in the list of trainees who were most likely to stab him.

“You broke it first.”

“I did? That’s news to me.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and narrowed her eyes at him. “This was a trick?”

“What was a trick?”

“So you’re not planning something?” Kulkarni asked from over Russo’s shoulder. “And Channary, put those down before you get someone in the eye.”

“Like me. I’ve only got the one, I’d appreciate hanging onto it,” York told her.

Russo rolled her eyes but put the scissors in her pocket and went to go help Ashraf take down the complicated knot system on the far wall.

“I’m always planning something,” York admitted casually. “But I wasn’t planning to break the terms, if that’s what you mean.” Something caught his eye. “Starks? What are you planning to blow up with that flour?”

Starks looked up from where she was assembling something with food dye, flour, and what Delta was identifying as radioactive biological matter. Sastry was watching with more interest than York was comfortable with. “It’s only a _little_ bit.”

“And?”

She sighed and put the flour away.

“So what were you planning?” Sastry asked, now that the distraction of potential mayhem had vanished.

“To let you all know that I’m planning something for tomorrow, so make sure you show up. And let the rest know, too.” Something occurred to York. “Oh, and if any of you have messed with the hallway outside my room again, I _will_ bring the handcuffs back.”

They all affected offended innocent faces with varying degrees of success. And of course, when York made his way back to the hallway outside his and Carolina’s room, packing peanuts and algae were rigged up in various booby traps dangling from the ceiling.

York sighed fondly and started disconnecting tripwires.

Ten minutes later, he had to pull his attention away from disarming the last one to answer his radio. “Yello.”

“ _Agent York?”_

He took a moment to breathe deeply before a casual “That’d be me.”

“ _This is General Gowda. We saw each other earlier, but I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”_

Delta matched her voice pattern, corroborating York’s memory. “That sounds about right.” He paused and carefully disentangled his hands from the tripwire mechanisms. “Can I…help you? With something?”

“ _I’d like to see you in my office at your earliest convenience.”_

“Okay. I’m a little busy at the moment, but if you could just give me—”

“ _Really? That’s funny. Because I haven’t received a single schedule from you. Not even one about what you’re doing with_ my _troops.”_

So this was going to be one of _those_ meetings.  
“Oh, I’m sorry, that would be an oversight on my part. I’ll be there right away.”

The radio clicked off and York sighed before getting Delta to flag the hallway as “unstable or likely to collapse” on base records. It should keep anyone else from triggering the muck ready to fall from the rafters.

Delta was also able to give York the route to General Gowda’s office. It was in the same general administrative wing as Vanessa’s, with a twitchy-looking cadet outside of it staring down at a phone like it was going to bite them.

“York, here to see General Gowda,” York offered, standing somewhat at attention in front of the desk. He kept from bouncing on the balls of his feet, because he already had a bad feeling about this and he knew this faction of the army liked order and he’d already pissed their general off enough.  
York didn’t tend to like groveling to get out of things. Groveling to get something he wanted was something else entirely. That was a strategy. Groveling to get out of something was a last-minute tactic.

The door slid open and Gowda was there, on her feet, looking disapproving. “I’m glad you could make it, Agent York.”

“It’s just—you know what, I’m glad I could make it, too. What did you need?”

She stood aside and gestured for him to enter before closing the door and retreating behind her desk, crossing her arms.

“I’d like to know what you and your…cadets have been doing to my base.”

* * *

 

“….and today, in other news, General Gowda informed me my teaching methods are, quote, highly unorthodox, disruptive to the other occupants of this base, and unsuited to a military environment, unquote. And I mean, she’s not wrong, but…”

York paused in his journal entry, trying to figure out what he wanted to put after the “but.” He used these logs to unravel his thoughts, but this particular knot wouldn’t come undone just yet. Eventually, he sighed and continued, “But this time, there were supposed to be consequences. So I’m refining my strategy. As it were.” He massaged the scar tissue over his left temple. “She wants a lesson plan, or at least an outline for training. She’s also got this assumption that my plan is to bring everyone up to a certain standard of skill in each area I cover. Which means that tomorrow, after going to all the trouble of getting everyone in one place, I get to spend a couple hours giving a lesson in actually picking locks. Which means that the people who already can are going to be done fast and get bored and frustrated and cause problems and the people who are having trouble are going to think I’m singling them out for special treatment and they’re going to get offended and frustrated. And I’m going to be frustrated and have to hide it so they won’t think I’m frustrated with them. Tomorrow’s going to be _fun._ ”

“You should not record things you do not believe, York.”

“Sarcasm, Dee. Learn sarcasm.” Saying that was more an in-joke than anything else by this point. Delta knew York knew Delta knew what sarcasm was. Delta was just trying to distract him. For now, York would let it work.

“So I got some more locks together and I’ll be running them through their paces. Just like school. I could totally pull off the hot teacher look, don’t you think?”

After ending the log, Delta tugged their shared—less-than-pleasant—memories of AI class in an inquiry. York let himself think back to high school, to college, to classes for ONI. Delta had seen them before, York knew, because there was only so bored anyone could get before they gave in to the temptation to rummage. Delta’s threshold for boredom was higher than York’s, but that wasn’t saying much. They had figured out, over time, that the memories were always more vivid when they were both looking at them.

_< What is the purpose of a pep rally?>_

“I have absolutely no idea.”

 

* * *

 

York got to the room half an hour early the next morning to set up. Once everything was laid out on the table, he settled in the corner hardest to see from the door, turning one of the locks over in his hands while he waited and trying not to get too wound up.

Delta had to periodically remind him to deepen his breathing.

The cadets trickled in a few at a time after breakfast, and all of them scanned the corners and caught him before picking their own space against the wall. None of them touched the table when they saw that he was watching it.

York would like to be flattered that they were this cautious and observant after only a few days of his pranking them, but he knew it probably had far more to do with living in a war zone.

“Alright,” he said as soon as the last of them had made it in. “I’m glad to see that you’re all here on time. So.” He put the lock down and then regretted it, because now he had nothing to do with his hands. He rubbed them together, a little awkwardly. “Uh. Do you all have lock picks by now?”

There was a long quiet moment and then Wilkinson raised a slow, careful hand. “I don’t have a pair.”

“Okay, do you want to—look on with Ashraf, maybe?” He couldn’t remember, on the spot, who she had been friendly with earlier, or who might have extra lockpicks. The two of them exchanged a look of mutual distaste and he had to keep from wincing at his own idiocy. “So, um. If you’d all just come up and take…a lock…”

York stared at the locks set out on the table, his own hands hovering over them, and realized exactly why this seemed so wrong.

His walk down memory lane yesterday was still fresh in his mind. ONI training in particular. They had started out the same way, with lock picking and disarming traps, which York had already known how to do. So he had finished up fast and spent half the class just shooting shit with his buddies, ignoring the people trying and failing while the instructor moved from one person to the next, trying too hard to keep up and not getting anywhere. By the time they moved on to covering alarms, he had been too bored to pay attention properly, so he had never really learned. That had come back to bite him.  
The point was, he had been on the other side of this. Once. He was pretty sure he was the only person from that class still alive.

 _< York. You have been silent for eighteen seconds.> _Delta prickled with concern on the edge of his brain.

“Forget it.” York dropped the lockpicks on the table. “I—we’ll resume training tomorrow. You get the rest of the day off. Have fun.”

They’d already made a break for the door, when he finally remembered to add, “Wilkinson, get some lock picks.”

The short one, Alcala, hesitated at the door before vanishing after the rest of them.

* * *

 

(“What the hell was _that?_ ”

“Do you think he’s trying to pull something?”

“Does he think we haven’t learned how to pick locks by now?”

“I think he was sad.”

“You heard about the pirates, right? Do you think he’s freaking out about that?”

“Nah, I’ve never seen Agent Washington worried about pirates.”

“He’s not Agent Washington.”

“I bet it has to do with why General Gowda wanted to meet with him.”

“She what?”

“Marcus said that York came by when they were on secretary duty and Gowda was waiting for him.”

“Anyone know where Marcus is right now?”)

* * *

 

York was leaning against the edge of the table, turning a lock over and over in his hands and letting Delta run calculations and probabilities so he didn’t have to think.

“There you are.”

York looked up to see Carolina in the doorway, helmet tucked under in her arm. He managed to summon a smile at the sight of her, bright and beautiful and still alive. “Hey.”

“You left early this morning.” She came in and leaned against the wall, facing him. “And you let your…ducklings go early, too.” A raised eyebrow pretty clearly indicated what she thought of the word.

“Vanessa came up with it first.”

“And yet you’ve continued it. Do they know you call them that?”

“Maybe.” York returned his attention to the lock.

“What happened?” Carolina asked.

“I have been informed,” York said, forcibly keeping his voice light, “that my training methods are disruptive, unorthodox, and unsuitable for a military environment.”

“Is that a quote?”

“From our very own General Gowda.”

Carolina considered that for a moment. “Honestly, I always thought that was your point.”

York’s hands stilled on the lock as several different thoughts came cascading together all at once.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said, more for his own benefit as his brain started spinning faster. “You’re a genius, I have to go see Vanessa.” He dropped a kiss on Carolina’s forehead and was out the door before she could say anything.

 

* * *

 

Vanessa looked up as the door to her office slammed open.

“I need you to be in charge,” York blurted out, outstretched arm still on the open door.

“What?” Vanessa blinked her eyes hard, trying to stop the statistics of their food supply and civilian population centers from swimming across her vision.

The little green hologram of York’s AI popped up over his shoulder. “You may wish to start from the beginning.”

“Right, right.” York took a deep breath and closed the door behind him. “General Gowda called me in yesterday and told me to change how I was training the ducklings. She said my methods were “unorthodox, disruptive, and unsuitable for a military environment.”” He had to stop and take another deep breath. “Which they are. That’s the _point_.”

Vanessa raised an eyebrow, cautiously intrigued.

“If I train those kids like soldiers, I’ll get them killed. This—intelligence work is _messy_. It requires being disruptive, requires being unorthodox, and it sure as hell isn’t anything like the rest of the military. And it can’t be a temporary thing, either. What they pick up under me, it’s going to last. It’s going to need to last.”

“I told you before,” Vanessa said, carefully, still not sure what he was getting at. “I don’t like the idea of a government spying on its population.”

“That’s why I need you to be in charge.” York met her gaze, his good eye steady and serious. “You let me explain, Vanessa, before you made any judgment calls. I appreciate that. I _need_ that.”

Vanessa caught herself about to drum her fingers, and spread her hand flat on the desk to kill the impulse. “You want to be put under my command…so I can stop you.”

“If you think it’s necessary.”

“And what would you be planning to do in the meantime?”

“Continuing to train the ducklings,” York said, promptly. “I want to move on to making them aware of gossip networks, of how information moves and how they can track it. I want to teach them codes and ciphers, how to make them and how to break them. From there, help them figure out how they can specialize, and eventually move on into training scenarios.”

Vanessa eyed him. “If I can convince Gowda to give me oversight—understand that this is _if_ —I would want you to keep me updated and informed. I would need you to submit reports on a regular basis, particularly if you’re planning to pull something like your prank war again. If I think what you’re planning is going to be a problem, I call you in, and if you haven’t convinced me, I get full veto power. No ‘I told you no so you went behind my back and did it anyway.’ This would be permanent and binding.”

His face didn’t so much as twitch as he nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

“I told you, this isn’t guaranteed.”

“Yeah, but I know I’m asking a lot. Besides,” and now his mouth did quirk into a sidelong grin. “I have the utmost faith in your abilities.”

Vanessa stared at him for so long that the smile faded and he asked, “What, do I have something in my teeth?”

“No, I just—no.” She reached for her stylus again. “I’ll talk to Gowda, and try to have an answer for you by the end of the day.”

York ducked his head and slipped sideways towards the door, exposing his blind side to her.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob and blurted out, “Thanks, again,” before vanishing out and closing it behind him.

Vanessa ended up staring at the closed door for a long while.

 

* * *

 

( _“Hello_ , Marcus.”

“Uh…hi, Imelda. Hi, Lucy.”

“Hi!”

“Heard you got tapped to watch General Gowda’s office yesterday.”

“Uh….”

“Oh, relax, we’re just curious if you saw Agent York go in.”

“Why?”

“ _Answer_ the _question_.”

“Ah! Praful, I didn’t…see you there…”

“Oh, come on, Marcus, we just want to know if something happened.”

“Uh…yeah, Agent York came by. I don’t know why she—I don’t know! The door was shut, but—something about training? And she wanted him to—to change?”

“So. The old man got yelled at.”

“I mean, you should hear some of the times Kimball’s gone off on Captain Grif.”

“Uh…guys?”

“Yes, Marcus?”

“Could you let me down now?”)

* * *

 

Gowda, shockingly, agreed to reclassify the intelligence division as a joint military-civilian organization and transfer the direct chain of command to Vanessa for the duration of training. Vanessa would be happy to revisit the issue when it came up after York declared the duck—the _cadets_ were ready for whatever the world wanted to throw at them. It was likely that by then they would have a functional enough civilian government that the division would need to be renegotiated anyway.

Vanessa was fairly sure pointing out that by transferring direct control Gowda could be absolved of having to deal with whatever shenanigans York came up with next had helped convince her.

Now Vanessa was taking the opportunity to get out of her office by going to find York herself, because Irene had threatened mutiny if Vanessa spent her lunch working again and eating in the mess hall was just asking for interruptions.

Until she had been unceremoniously shoved out of her own office with a couple of sandwiches in hand, Vanessa admittedly hadn’t thought about how, exactly she was going to find York, which she had a sneaking suspicion might have been Irene’s intention. So she was left to munch on one of the sandwiches while she wandered through the back hallways of the base and invented more excuses not to call York to avoid thinking about how she might have just made a huge mistake.

She was trying to come up with a better one than _flying monkeys could descend on the comms tower and short it out_ when she heard a voice in one of the caves that hadn’t been used since she had first joined the New Republic. It sounded like York, so she headed that way.

“…and I haven’t heard back yet. Haven’t seen the ducklings since, either. Think they might be up to something.”

“The odds of them being ‘up to something’ could not even be considered odds. It is almost certain they are up to something.”

“And that would be Delta, always happy to reinforce my paranoia.” A sigh. “Probably should have waited to record until I know for sure, but wanted to get it off my chest. I am hoping it works out, for more reasons than one. Carolina trusts Vanessa as a commander.” He huffed out a small laugh. “I didn’t think that could happen again, after…Freelancer.” He drifted into silence.

Vanessa knocked on the metal frame and stuck her head in before she could overhear any more. “York?”

“Speak of the devil! I mean—not like that.” Delta vanished from over York’s left shoulder, leaving him to look embarrassed. “I think very highly of you, I wouldn’t—”

“Relax.” She waved the hand with the sandwich. “I just wanted to let you know that it worked out. Gowda’s letting me handle supervisory duties, to be renegotiated once you finish training and we’ve got a better civilian government established.”

He grinned, and it lit up his face. “I knew you could do it. _Thank_ you.” His gaze caught on the sandwich in her hand. “Do you—if you want some privacy to eat your lunch, I can go—”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll go, I don’t want to interrupt—”

“You’re not interrupting anything, you can come in if you want, I was just recording a log.”

Kimball stopped, feeling a little like she’d been hit in the face. “A—a log?”

“Yeah. Daily log, journal entry, that sort of thing. Diary, if you want to call it that and destroy every shred of my manhood.” He grinned to take any kind of weight out of the joke. “If you want the room, it’s yours, I should probably go eat anyway.” He didn’t look enthusiastic at the thought of braving the cafeteria.

“You don’t have to leave.” Vanessa held up her helmet with the sandwiches tucked inside. “I have more.”

* * *

 

(“He’s not in the cafeteria.”

“He’s not in the motor pool.”

“Chirrit says he hasn’t been to see General Gowda.”

“No one’s seen him go towards quarters.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, he’s been sneaking around somehow.”

“Anyone check those old caves behind Kimball’s office?”

“Irene might kill him if she sees him, and she _will_ kill us.”

“Agent Carolina is in the gym, and the captains and Agent Washington are still out looking, so he’s not with any of them.”

“So where _is_ the old man?”)

 

* * *

 

They ended up sitting together, eating sandwiches and letting a silence that was…settled, if not completely comfortable, sit between them.

“So,” Vanessa said, carefully. “You keep logs?”

“Pretty regularly, yeah. It was required after I got—” he knocked on the back of his head to indicate the AI. “—and I liked how it helped me organize my thoughts. After….everything, I spent a few years on the run with no one to talk to. Keeping it up helped keep me kinda sane. I mean, as sane as a guy who talks to himself can be.”

Vanessa grinned into her bean-paste sandwich.

“What about you?” York asked, after a couple more bites. “Do you ever keep a log?”

Vanessa’s grin dropped off faster than a bullet, and she stared at her lunch with no appetite.

“Vanessa?” York asked, when she hadn’t responded for too long.

“I used to.” She took another bite. It tasted like sand, which wasn’t much worse than bean paste, but certainly wasn’t better. “What have you been told about Felix?”

York took a moment to consider his answer. “In the files you gave me, he came up a lot as someone who gave you information. Carolina told me that he was one of Charon’s agents to rig the war, with the New Republic, and that Tucker tricked him into confessing on video by getting himself stabbed. And that he’s dead now.”

“All true,” Vanessa said, picking at her crust. “He told us he was a mercenary. He—he was in command in the New Republic for longer than I was. When I ended up in charge, it was because there was no one else left, not because I was prepared. I relied on him for a lot of things. Information. Supplies. Plans.” She let her voice go bitter. “I was an _idiot_.

“Keeping logs was his suggestion. I liked it. It helped, to talk out my thoughts. Helped me make better plans. Helped me make better decisions. Helped me feel less alone.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she could continue. “He was listening to them. All of them. Learning…everything I said.” She could hear York suck in a hiss of air through his teeth, but he didn’t interrupt. “After…everything…I couldn’t keep doing it. I’d turn on the program and open my mouth and…I couldn’t make anything come out.” Her voice broke a little bit, and she tried to get it back under control. “I was so worried about what I’d say. What I would give away if anyone heard them. What was too vulnerable.” She had to stop and take several deep breaths. “I had to stop.”

There was silence. Vanessa opened her eyes and took another bite of her sandwich, blinking her eyes fiercely and not once looking at York.

He didn’t say he was sorry.

“Well. I know that it helps. That…sometimes, it’s the only thing that helps. And I’ve said things to Delta I wouldn’t want _Carolina_ to hear, let alone an enemy. If—I know, that you don’t know me, and you probably don’t want anywhere near your personal files, but…I could ask Carolina if Epsilon would run an encryption for you? Something unbreakable you could keep them behind. If you ever want to try again?”

It ended on a question, very clearly an open offer.

Vanessa took a deep breath, for once not having to shove down the impulse that she was making a mistake, that she was risking too much, that she was going to get people killed by trusting the wrong person. Right here, right now, she just let herself….be.

“Thank you, York. I’ll think about it.”

 

* * *

 

(“Hey, Kasib, where are you going?”

“He has to go back to his room eventually, right?”

“Solid plan.”

“Wait, why are you coming?”

“Because we want to know too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Strength in numbers, dude.”)

* * *

 

Vanessa left first to go back to her never-ending work, so York stayed, dutifully recorded an addendum to the log to confirm that he had gotten permission—he left out the rest of it, because everyone had things thought ought to remain private—and then headed back to his room.

He was not expecting to find all the ducklings there as well, silent and staring at him.

“Can I…help you?”

“Why did you have a fight with General Gowda?” Campos asked. He seemed to be the spokesperson.

“Fight? We didn’t have a fight.”

“Why did you have a _meeting_ with General Gowda?”

York shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets, leaning casually against the wall. “She disapproved of my training methods and wanted to make some…alternative suggestions.”

“Are you planning to take those suggestions?”

“I’d been considering it. But probably not, in the long term.”

“And what does _that_ mean?”

“It means I have my ways. How did you know I’d spoken with Gowda?”

Campos crossed his arms, a little _too_ casually. “We have our ways.”

“Riiiight.” York let the silence drag out, wondering who would break first.

“We talked to some people,” Sastry said, after nothing happened.

“ _Kuntul,_ ” Campos hissed at her.

“What? He’s not gonna tell us, either way.”

“We’re blocking his room,” someone muttered.

“We’re blocking his and Agent Carolina’s room…”

“Oh. Right.”

“ _We talked to some people_ ,” Sastry repeated over the mutterings. “You got yelled at about changing the way you’re training us yesterday, right? That’s why this morning was so weird.”

York didn’t confirm or deny, just kept his body language loose and waited for her to continue.

She frowned. “So you had a chance to…’consider it,’ and try it out, but it didn’t work, so…you went looking for another option?” Sastry blinked, and York had to suppress a grin as he saw the pieces click together.

“Are you breaking away from General Gowda?” Thakkar blurted.

“Hard to break away when I was never really assigned to her in the first place.” York considered his options. “Tell you what. If you lot can get a working theory and then find me before lunch tomorrow, I’ll let you know whether or not it’s right.”

“And if we can’t?” Campos asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Then I guess we go back to lock-picking.”

There were groans.

“Glad we had this chat.” York used his chipperest tone and stayed right where he was.

It only took 15.4 seconds of waiting—thank you, Delta—before Campos sighed dramatically and peeled away, heading down the hall. The rest followed after him, muttering under their breath as soon as they’d drifted mostly out of earshot.

Alcala was the last one to leave, again, but this time she hooked something over the door handle of his room before taking off after the rest.

When York investigated, it turned out to be a few scraps of thread woven together, in yellow and green and brown.

_< The length would be ineffectual as a garrote, or as anything else of much use.>_

_< It’s a friendship bracelet, D. I don’t think it has a use.> _York turned it over in his hands once he was alone in the privacy of the room.

 _< Are you planning to dispose of it, then?_>

York grinned, tucking it into a pocket. < _Nah. >_

* * *

 

“Grif?”

“What?”

“Do you get the feeling we’re being waAAAAAAH!”

Simmons’ question turned into a yelp as Carolina grabbed him and Grif by the arms and dragged them out of the hallway into a side room. The rest of the reds and blues were already there and arguing.

Carolina stuck her head out into the hallway and looked both ways one last time, making sure it was clear before she shut the door.

“What the hell was that for? You scared us half to death! Don’t you know not to startle someone with a gun?”

“ _Quiet._ ”

Apparently, miracles were on her side today, or else she had just intimidated them all enough by ambushing them that they shut up.

“Right now, you’re the base’s newest gossip, which means we have about…ten minutes before someone figures out where we are.”

“Why ten minutes?”

“What _happened_? It’s only been a week!”

“Wait—did the pirates infiltrate? Is that why we’re being all black-ops style secret?”

“No,” Carolina said, shutting that down firmly and immediately. “No, there are definitely no pirates on this base. That’s for sure.”

“And how do you know that?” Wash asked, tone cautious.

“Because if there were any, half the base would have been talking about it two days ago,” she said wearily. “The point is, we’re short on time. What did you learn?”

“The woods around Keddersville are clear. We found what looked like an arms cache, but it was cleared out. No signs of long-term habitation. There was a clearing could have been a landing zone, but it was overgrown. Hasn’t been used in a while.” Wash’s report was quick and efficient, and Carolina tuned out the background argument over what, exactly the empty clearing could have been used for. “We looked through all the caves within three miles, too. There was nothing there, but they could have cleared out and cleaned up behind them.”

“Which means they’re probably in the city.” Carolina sighed, and let her fists clench. _“Dammit._ ”

“What’s been happening here?” Wash asked.

“York’s got his ducklings working on information gathering. They’ve got the base’s gossip network kicked into overdrive.”

Wash’s helmet slowly tipped to the left. “…Ducklings?”

“Trainees. Don’t ask.”

The building argument grew too loud to be ignored. “—no _way_ it was used for raves!”

“Well, excuse me for thinking people might want to blow off some steam!”

“You’re both wrong! Clearly, it was the site of some nefarious—”

“I’ll just let you to make a full report to the generals?” Carolina asked Wash in an undertone. “I should be heading out.”

“You’re leaving again?”

“Kimball said I could have the go-ahead as soon as you got back. She and Gowda are working on sending people home and they didn’t want both of us off-base at the same time. Epsilon and I are going to check the bases again, see what we can find.”

“Did you get anything from the data?”

Carolina breathed deeply through her nose. “No.”

He nodded, just an acknowledgement, no judgment or condemnation. “Good luck, boss.”

“Thanks.” She slipped out the door, leaving him to try and defuse what was now a full-blown shouting match.

When she turned the corner, though, she ran straight into a cadet she was pretty sure York was responsible for.

They yanked back, avoiding a collision. “Agent Carolina!”

“At ease, Private…” Carolina has to wrack her brain for a moment. “Sastry, isn’t it?”

“That’s me.”

Carolina raised an eyebrow in the privacy of her helmet. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, you know, things.” Sastry was trying not to be obvious, but Carolina could see her trying to sneak a peek around the corner that led to the room Carolina had just left.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” Carolina stepped around her and kept walking, heading towards the outskirts of the base.

While she moved, she composed a message for York.

_Tell your ducklings they really need to work on their subtlety._

* * *

 

Vanessa read Washington’s report with her hands inside her removed helmet, trying to get a couple of particularly stubborn wires to connect. When she was done reading and still hadn’t fixed the microphone, she sighed and withdrew her hands, whacking the helmet against her desk a couple of times.

When she reached back in to see if anything had been jarred loose, something sparked and she had to swear and yank back.

Great.

She made herself go open the door with her unsinged hand, walking away from the problem before she could break it further. “Irene? Could you—”

Vanessa had to stop with the door halfway open and blink at the scene in front of her.

Irene was at her desk, holding a set of lockpicks in one hand and a padlock in the other. York was lying on the floor in front of her, narrating instructions aloud and spinning an intricate-looking green hologram around while his AI watched from a perch on the edge of Irene’s desk.

Specifically, from a perch on the back of a rubber duck on the edge of Irene’s desk.

“General?” Irene asked, looking up at Vanessa innocently. “Do you need something?”

“My helmet’s microphone is broken. Are you too busy to take a look at it?”

“I’m allowed to have hobbies,” Irene informed her haughtily. “Sure, give it here.”

York was still there when Vanessa came back with her helmet.

“Don’t mind me,” York said from the floor.

Vanessa had to reach over him to hand the helmet to Irene. “Shouldn’t you be off collecting gossip?”

“The information network the trainees have established does not require permanent monitoring. Particularly in a closed environment.”

Vanessa looked down at Delta, hiding her surprise. She’d heard the AI’s voice when she’d found York recording his journal entry, but he’d never spoken to her before. “I see. Can I ask where the duck came from?”

“Bartered it out of Cameron.” Irene flashed a penlight inside the helmet. “You really did a number on this, boss.”

“I didn’t do it on _purpose_ ,” Vanessa protested. Thinking of some of her repair efforts, she added guiltily, “Most of it.”

York let out a “huh” from the floor and Vanessa looked down at him. “Something to add?”

“What? No, just…message from Wash. Carolina’s off.”

“Oh.” Vanessa leaned against the desk, trying to remain casual. She’d told Carolina she could go, she’d known Carolina was going to go, Carolina could take care of herself and they needed the information she could find, but…

Oh.

Irene let out a sigh and turned off the light. “Well, it’s definitely broken, but I can’t figure out how deep the damage goes. It could just be the microphone, it could be a couple of other systems as well.”

“Great.”

“Excuse me, but may I offer my services?”

Irene and Vanessa both looked at Delta. The AI had moved from his perch on the duck to stand on the broken helmet.

“What do you mean?”

“I am more than capable of assessing the damage and informing you of its extent.”

Vanessa hesitated, but only briefly. “That would be tremendously helpful, Delta. Thank you.”

The AI vanished for only a moment before reappearing. “There are three wires within the microphone system that have become disconnected from their circuits, a minor issue with the sealing mechanism that drastically increases the probability of a system breach within half an hour of activation, and an electrical fault within the visor that has shorted out the lower left corner of the HUD.”

Irene let out a low, impressed whistle. “Nice work.”

“Thank you, Delta.”

“It was very simple. Although the electrical fault is curious. The other two issues are tangential, but the fault is on the opposite side.”

“It’s an old issue. There’s never been the time or tech to spare to repair it,”

“That seems dangerous,” York spoke up from the floor.

“It hasn’t been a problem yet,” Vanessa said, defensive. “I go out in the field less. There were other soldiers who needed functioning helmets more.”

“As someone of high rank, your safety is just as, if perhaps not more important.”

“ _Thank you_ , Delta.” Vanessa used her severe voice to close that line of conversation, because she _really_ didn’t want to think about it. Nothing had gone wrong yet. Her helmet worked just fine.

Usually.

“I’ll send it to the quartermaster’s later,” Irene said, taking control of the situation.

The green hologram York had been playing with vanished, along with Delta’s projection, and he stood up with a grunt. “I can run it down there for you.”

“That would be helpful, York. Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem.” He grabbed the helmet off the desk without getting too close into Vanessa’s space, and walked off whistling.

Irene picked the padlock back up and started fiddling with it again.

“Please don’t tell me you’re planning on joining his madness.”

“Are you kidding? I get enough madness hanging around you. I just wanted to learn how to pick locks.”

* * *

 

York tossed the helmet between his hands as he wandered down the hallway, whistling a song that he vaguely remembered singing in more than a few bars.

_< Didn’t realize you were going to talk to Vanessa.>_

Delta ignored him, so York began to deliberately go off-key to try and spark a reaction.

Delta spoke up begrudgingly after a few more phrases. _< It is highly improbable that she would do anything to harm or endanger me. She has known of Epsilon since Carolina began coordinating directly with her. We have not spent so long in hiding that I have forgotten how to communicate without using you as a go-between.>_

 _< Yeah, but you use me as a go-between because you don’t _like _talking to people. >_

Delta didn’t bother denying having likes or dislikes anymore. _< Most people fail to recognize the extent of my capabilities.>_

York couldn’t whistle and grin at the same time. _< You _like _her. >_

_< I find her dedication to her cause admirable and the respect with which she treats me…gratifying.>_

_< You liiiiiike her._>

Delta pointedly refused to respond, blocking off a chunk of their shared headspace. When York tried whistling off-key again, Delta retaliated with disturbing hygiene facts. York yielded.

He had an appointment to get to, anyways.

To be completely fair, he had absolutely underestimated exactly how well the ducklings would pick up on information gathering. Or to be exact, he had underestimated exactly how much teenagers living in a war zone gossiped already.

In retrospect, he really should have emphasized secrecy first. A caught spy was a dead spy. An illusion of incompetence was useful; actual incompetence was not.

At least now York knew how extensive the network was, and who he needed on his side.

When he got to the room no one had told him he wasn’t allowed to use yet, Alcala, Sastry, Kulkarni, and Bowers were waiting. And in a pleasantly surprising turn of events, there were no buckets of water over the door.

York locked both doors and set the helmet under the table while Delta ran a scan for bugs before he said anything, leaving them to stew in silence.

Alcala broke first. “Why did you want to see us? Without any of the others?”

“Did any of you tell any of the others?” York asked, before he answered her question.

Three of them shook their heads, but Sastry hesitated.

“Sastry?”

“I told Kasib you had asked some people to a meeting, and that I was one of them.”

“Why?”

“Because if you were planning on pulling something, I wanted someone to come looking for me.”

“Practical. Why Kasib?”

“Because he doesn’t talk much, and I figured he wouldn’t tell any of the others until either after the meeting was over and I could tell him it wasn’t anything important or until he hadn’t seen me in a while.” She answered honestly, which York appreciated.

“A good reason. Of course, now someone does know you’ve had a meeting, and people are curious. He might want to know what happened here, in which case you’ll have to either tell him and make yourself vulnerable, or lie to him and hope no one else spills the beans. Vulnerability and sharing information can be useful if you want to cultivate a contact or safeguard an outcome—like making sure there’s someone to come after you—but it’s also, beyond a doubt, dangerous.” He pulled out a lockpick and flipped it between his fingers while he spoke, practicing his dexterity. “You’ve also made him aware of an aberration. He could remember that, and even if you lie to him or don’t tell him everything, that’s one piece of the puzzle you can’t take away from him.”

They were looking at him differently now—a new kind of wary respect. Not like he was going to drop a bucket of water or slippery floor on them, but like he might actually have something worthwhile to say. York liked it.

“Remember, the basis of all warfare is deception. Deception is your job now. There is such a thing as excess, but you’re building everything on the assumption that what you’re being told isn’t the whole truth.” He could feel the bitterness rising up his gorge as the sentence went on and some unpleasant memories reared their heads, so he shook it off. “Anyways. Questions?”

“Does that mean we should assume you’re lying to us?” Bowers asked, looking up at him from where she’d been studying the floor.

“Have I lied to you yet?”

“Are you going to answer everything with a question?”

York grinned, but let it fade so they would know he was serious. “If I can avoid lying to you, I will. If I’m going to teach you anything, I need you to trust that I’m telling the truth.” Plus he was really bad at lying outright, but they didn’t need to know that.

“Can we tell the others what you told us? About deception?” Alcala had thread in her hands again, tying knots in quick, practiced motions as she spoke.

“I suppose. I’d rather have the chance to tell them myself, but I won’t stop you. It’s important to know.”

“You say you want us to trust you, but the first time you ever met us, you handcuffed us together,” Kulkarni pointed out. He was watching York the closest, dark eyes still.

“That a question or a statement?”

“Question. Why?”

“Lock-picking’s a vital skill. So’s teamwork, and adaptability. I wanted a hands-on assessment.”

“You wanted us to underestimate you.”

York shrugged. “A bit.”

“What would you have done?” Sastry spoke up last. There was a bit of a flush on her cheeks, but she still met his gaze with a challenge. “In our place, about this meeting.”

York thought about it. “When I was where you are or now?”

“Both. Either.”

York really had to think about it, and the lock pick stilled in his fingers as his mind started to move. What would he have done if someone who was teaching him, someone who had already proven to be unpredictable, had singled him out among a few others for a private meeting? Would he have gone looking for backup? Would he have kept it quiet and gloated to himself? Would he have gloated afterwards?

“Now…” He turned it over in his head. “Now I wouldn’t show up, because I’m a paranoid old bastard. I might bug the room, if I really wanted to know.” Which was why he had swept for bugs. “When I was your age, I wouldn’t have told anyone, because I was an overconfident idiot who thought I could handle anything.”

A couple of them chuckled.

“Any more questions?”

No one spoke up, so he tucked the lockpick away. “All right. As you’ve probably picked up on recently, you’re all getting a lot of practice at gossip. You four are doing well enough that frankly, you don’t need any more practice from the angle you’re getting at. So your mission, if you choose to accept it…”

After he tells them, there’s a long pause, and then Kulkarni says, “Someone has told you you’re an asshole, right?”

“Many people.”

“Just checking.”

* * *

 

Tucker came by to deliver his report in person, not long after York left with her helmet, and Vanessa set down everything else to pay attention—both because if she wasn’t distracted, Tucker was less likely to be, and because a surprising amount of detail slipped through the nuances of his speech.

Also, because at this point she considered him a friend and enjoyed spending time with him. She wasn’t really sure how that had happened either.

She was going to miss him.

His report covered the first part of their mission, where they went to go look at the remaining ships, and dovetailed very neatly with Wash’s. So much so that she wondered if Wash had made him write their reports together.

The basic summary was the same as it had been a week ago—no functional ships, no one leaving anytime soon—but she did learn that there had been a surprising amount of parts. Enough that Tucker was hopeful “Lopez or Jensen or someone” would be able to rig up an engine soon enough.

“Thank you, Tucker,” she said, when he had finished.

“No problem. Sorry we weren’t really…helpful.”

“The lack of ships isn’t your fault. I should have sent someone earlier, or tried to keep an eye on them better.” But with no one leaving the planet, they just hadn’t been a priority.

A lot of things that hadn’t been priorities were coming back to bite them.

“It’ll be a while before we can spare one of the remaining Pelicans, or get any kind of safe read on the orbital space, but as soon as we can, it’s all yours,” she told him.

“Wait, what?” He sounded confused.

“Well, we’re still trying to funnel supplies around the planet and get people resettled, and we need the Pelicans for that. If there had been any ships left at the Crash Site, I was planning to offer you one of those, but it seems you’ll have to wait. You probably would have, anyways, if only because the surrounding space is likely to be dangerous until the UNSC finally shows up.”

“Hang on—you think we’re just going to leave? While there are still so many problems? The pirates are still out there!”

“And they’re going to be out there for a long time.” Vanessa threaded her fingers together and sighed internally, wishing for her helmet to hide her face. She had hoped he’d already worked this out and she wouldn’t have to have this conversation.

She could still avoid it—brush it off, and let them get sucked into life on Chorus, and bring it up years from now as a symbolic gesture they would never take, but—that wouldn’t be fair. She couldn’t do that to them.

This conversation had to be had, now, while the war was still hanging over them and making it so easy to just pack things up and go.

“Tucker. I asked you—and Grif, and Simmons, and Caboose—to stay, first to get your friends back, then to fight a war. You stayed. The war’s been fought. It’s as _over_ as it’s ever going to be. Today, and probably for a long time, it’s the pirates. Tomorrow it’ll be raiders, or problems with civilian life, or one of the many, many things that makes it hard to live on a small planet at the edge of colonized space. Problems are going to keep coming up. Things are going to keep going wrong. They aren’t your responsibility anymore. They shouldn’t have to be. You’ve more than fulfilled your end of the bargain. It’s time to go.”

Vanessa kept her voice steady and her breathing even, kept her hands still and her eyes on the part of Tucker’s helmet that jutted over his visor.

“You want us to leave.” It was almost a question.

“What I want doesn’t matter. No one would object if you stayed—you’ve saved us all a dozen times over, you’re heroes—but I know you never wanted this to be permanent. You were going somewhere when you fell out of the sky, weren’t you? You have a life. All of you had lives before this. You can have lives after this.”

She let the silence hang in the air to give Tucker space, in case he wanted to say anything, and then unthreaded her fingers, picking up a stylus. “You don’t have to decide right now. Like I said, it’ll be a while before we can spare a ship, or before it’s even safe enough to leave atmo. Just…think about it.”

When he kept standing there, like he wasn’t sure what to do, she told him, “Thank you again for your report. Tucker.” She tried to make the dismissal just obvious enough.

“No problem. Happy to help.” He turned around and left, the door closing hard behind him.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Vanessa tried to move on, tried to get to work, but her hands were shaking so much she had to set down the stylus, put her face in her hands, and breathe.

She’d done it. It couldn’t be taken back now. It had been fair and right and _necessary_ , but she still felt like something in her stomach had dropped away at the thought of all of them moving on and never coming back.

Vanessa gave herself a full three minutes to breathe and prod the idea of the reds and blues being gone so it would hurt less when they actually left before she lifted her head, picked up the stylus, and went back to work on the thousand other things that needed doing.

 

* * *

 

Vanessa really should have known to expect Washington’s appearance by now, but somehow she was still surprised when he came to her office in person.

“Agent Washington,” she said, looking up from a list of resettlement requests. Gowda had agreed that priority should be given to those old enough to have had a civilian life before the civil war, in the interests of reestablishing a society that the younger generations could make their way in. As much as both of them would love if every soldier under legal drinking age could just take off their armor for good right now, throwing them to their own devices would just end badly in the long run. “I received your report, thank you.”

“Tucker said that you spoke with him about leaving.”

Vanessa sighed. “That was quick.” By now, it was probably all over the base, which meant that either the cadets were going to come harass her or descend en masse on the troopers. “Yes, I did. I wanted to let him know where things stood since it turns out there are no functioning ships.”

“Is this also why you’ve been transferring my training duties?”

“Gowda’s been responsible for that, but yes. We’ve discussed it.”

“Are you really expecting us to just leave?”

“You do remember that the first time we ever asked for help, you said you were only interested in getting off this planet, right?” She couldn’t really keep the irony out of her voice.

“Quite a lot has happened since then,” he admitted. “I’ll rephrase that, then. Do you want us to leave?”

Vanessa took a very deep breath. “What I want is irrelevant.”

“If you want us gone, it isn’t.” His gaze was steady, and Vanessa wished even harder for her helmet.

“I want you to have the option to leave,” she said, as honest as she could be while still being neutral. “And I want to make sure you’re all aware of that option. I assumed you were.”

“I wasn’t sure,” he said, slowly. “I don’t know if the others were thinking about it.”

“And what do you want, Agent Washington? Where do you intend to go?”

He shifted his weight. “I haven’t really bothered making plans for my life for a while now. I guess I’ll go where the others go.

“Where Tucker goes?” she asked pointedly.

He seemed to settle into himself at that question. “Yes.”

Vanessa could feel a small, wry smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “Then I wish you the best of luck.” She picked up her stylus again. “Any other questions?”

“No, I think I’m set. Thank you, General.” He nodded to her and left.

This time, when she went back to work, her hands didn’t shake.

 

* * *

 

Carolina’s mission was just as fruitless as the last one. Not only did she not find any new bases, the ones she and Epsilon had marked to check over again were almost entirely cleared out. Their shared bad mood was only compounded when Carolina discovered that she had gotten used to falling asleep in a bed with someone else and now it felt entirely too quiet and empty when she lay down next to the Mongoose to catch a catnap in her armor.

Finally, after too much wriggling around to find the clearest patch of ground, she forced herself to lie very still, breathing slowly in and out until her heartbeat settled, and then her eyes slipped shut and she finally managed to fall asleep.

She jerked awake two hours later, according to the clock in the corner of her HUD, from a nightmare about York getting shot.

She had to yank off her helmet, gulping in the damp Chorus night air and lowering her forehead to rest against the cyan slope of it.

It was a new nightmare—she’d had dreams about York dying before, on the training ground when the grenade exploded, or shooting out into space because she couldn’t get to him fast enough, or choking on his own blood on the rooftop of the empty base where she had found the lighter, or crushed under the wreckage of the MOI. But this one was new.

First she’d been watching him, from above and to the left, as he tried to break through a door, so hyperfocused on the challenge in front of him he never noticed the guard sneaking up behind him until a bullet went through his skull, and the whole time it had felt like she was screaming at him, trying to get his attention, and trying to stop the guard, trying to do _something_ and he was dying because she had failed, it was going wrong, it was all going _wrong—_

And then she had been on the roof of the base, but it had been different, she had been in the armor with him and he had been too still too cold and his heartbeat getting slower and slower a nd s l o w e r - -

 _< Epsilon.>_ She dragged her forehead away from her helmet, staring at the trees until she could focus on where and who she was. _< What was that?_>

He was quiet, but she knew he was awake.

_< If you try to tell me it’s nothing…>_

_< It’s—it’s old, okay?>_

‘Old,’ for Epsilon, in that tone of voice, meant “left from Alpha.”

 _< Oh.>_ She didn’t poke it any further. He retreated away from their shared headspace.

They were five hours away from base, and it was the middle of the night. Odds were that York was well asleep by now. He would probably wake up to talk to her, but she thought of him fast asleep in their bed, resting safe away from the rest of the world, and couldn’t stand the idea of disturbing him.

She was debating the idea of trying to rest more or getting back on the Mongoose and going to the next location when Epsilon perked up.

 _< C, you’ve got a message._>

When she pulled on her helmet to check, it wasn’t marked urgent, but that was definitely a message there from Kimball.

When she opened it, it was just a request for her to call and check in at her earliest convenience. Probably Kimball had assumed she’d see it when she woke up, but Carolina needed the distraction badly enough that Epsilon was dialing it almost automatically.

It occurred to her about three seconds into the ringing that it was probably a bad idea, but then Kimball’s voice came over the line and Carolina’s chest relaxed so quickly that she didn’t really care.

“Kimball here.”

“It’s me.”

“Carolina!” She was startled. “I’m so sorry, I should have waited until morning. I thought you’d be asleep, I really didn’t—”

“It’s fine, I was awake anyways,” Carolina reassured her, because she was honestly so grateful to be able to talk to someone she trusted who didn’t live in her head. “What did you need?”

“Hold on, give me a—” There was a sound of rustling and shuffling, and then a closing door. Even now that they were able to go through the Communications Tower, the signal was rough enough that a video call to nowhere wasn’t particularly sustainable. “Sorry, my helmet’s broken, I had to borrow Irene’s tablet while she’s gone.”

“Your helmet’s broken?” Carolina’s voice sharpened with worry. “Was there another attack? Did—”

“It’s _fine_. It’s just old, and the microphone cut out. It should be a temporary fix.” Kimball’s voice was firm and reassuring, and Carolina let herself believe her. “I really did just want to check in with you. I know you can handle yourself, but with the mercenaries making a resurgence…”

“I’m fine,” Carolina said, and she could almost believe it. “The bases have been cleared out even more, though.”

“I was afraid of that.” Kimball sounded resigned, and then Carolina caught a yawn and realized the other woman was just tired. “If they don’t pan out, I might ask you to do a check around Keddersville as well. It’s a long shot, but the Reds and Blues aren’t exactly subtle. A single highly skilled operative may be able to uncover more.”

Carolina tried not to feel pleased about Kimball’s casual validation of her prowess. She didn’t try very hard, but she tried.

“I can do that. I can start heading that way right now, even—”

“Don’t you _dare_. It’s after midnight and you’re covering a lot of ground on your own. Get some rest.”

“You’re one to talk. What are you even doing up?”

“There’s always something to be done.” She yawned again, and Carolina caught herself yawning in response.

“I will promise not to go anywhere until morning if you agree that you’re going to hang up this call and go to bed,” Carolina told her.

There was a sigh. “All right. Good night, Carolina.” She hesitated, and then added, “Be safe. Please.”

“I will.” Carolina yawned again and added, thinking of York, “Good night. Vanessa.”

There was a very long pause, and then the click of the line hanging up.

Carolina fell back asleep not long after, and didn’t dream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this is part of the Red vs. Blue Big Bang, you can find the art for this fic (and SO MUCH OTHER GOOD STUFF) at [ adobewanphotobi.tumblr.com](adobewanphotobi.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Huge thank you to Steph for reading through this chapter and reading snippets and just generally being a lovely and fantastic and encouraging person! 
> 
> Next update is scheduled for March 26. I have more to write this time around, but I am REALLY HOPING to stick to it. If it comes down to posting on time or posting with the target wordcount, though, I'm going to post with the wordcount, not before.  
> Also....yeah, chapter count's gone up. It's currently at five. Hopefully it'll stay that way. 
> 
> Quoted poetry is once again from Verse 13 of Conrad Aiken's [Preludes for Memnon.](http://preludesformemnon.blogspot.com/) Because I'm Extra and have a thing for love poetry that doesn't look like love poetry.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments last time! I'm so glad people are willing to join me in this leaky canoe!


	3. the drop of blood, the windflower, and the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York ran around the base at ungodly hours and was on his fifth cup of coffee of the day (filched from the edge of a table because the cooks were threatening to cut him off) when Carolina called.
> 
> “Dave’s Auto Parts, biggest supplier of headlight fluid and elbow grease in the tri-planet area, what can I do for you today?”
> 
> There was a pause, and then Carolina asked, _“How much coffee have you had today, York?”_
> 
> “What? Not much. Why?” He set down the coffee cup carefully so she couldn’t hear him slurping it.
> 
>  
> 
> _“Because you were talking so fast I only caught about three words of that.”_
> 
>  
> 
> Whoops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _...Softly, together,_   
>  _We tread our little arcs upon our star;_   
>  _Stare at each other’s eyes, and see them thinking;_   
>  _Lay hands upon our hearts and feel them beating;_   
>  _But what precedes the luminous thought, or what_   
>  _Unnumbered heartbeats timed the beat we feel,-_   
>  _What burnings up of suns, or deaths of moons,_   
>  _Shaped them, or what wreckage in time’s stream,-_   
>  _Ignore… And are our footsteps parallel?_   
> 

York was very, very satisfied by the ducklings’ new approach to life.

He wasn’t entirely sure that the four he had talked to hadn’t cheated by telling the rest what they were up to, but that was easy enough to check.

Either way, the first day had been quiet but the second was already a roaring success, considering that it had only been a couple of hours and he was pretty sure Bowers had managed to plant seven completely false rumors and that Sastry was responsible for the complete mess of the hall west of the cafeteria that was being blamed on Campos and Mohamed.

Alcala was clearly still feeling her way around with deception, but he had caught her having a conversation with Ashraf insinuating that Wilkinson had been responsible for one of Bowers’ false rumors. York couldn’t wait to see what Kulkarni would come up with.

He turned out to need extra time that morning, to get on top of the gossip mill himself and set up for a lesson with a few of the ducklings. The nightmares that sleeping alone had brought him worked out in his favor after all.

Delta disapproved of York’s not taking care of himself, but they had both figured out a long time ago that even with Delta monitoring it, sleeping medications were a terrible awful idea.

So York ran around the base at ungodly hours and was on his fifth cup of coffee of the day (filched from the edge of a table because the cooks were threatening to cut him off) when Carolina called.

“Dave’s Auto Parts, biggest supplier of headlight fluid and elbow grease in the tri-planet area, what can I do for you today?”

There was a pause, and then Carolina asked, “ _How much coffee have you had today, York?”_

“What? Not much. Why?” He set down the coffee cup carefully so she couldn’t hear him slurping it.

“ _Because you were talking so fast I only caught about three words of that.”_

Whoops.

York carefully pushed the mug a little further away and made an effort to keep his voice understandable. “Just a bit wound up. New things happening. Do you need something?”

“ _I…not really. I just wanted to check in with you. The mercs have cleared out of the first couple bases, so I’m changing my schedule. Kimball needs me to check out Keddersville again, so I’m going there too.”_

“When you say changing your schedule, do you mean you’ll be out more time or less time?” York started to reach for the coffee and Delta activated the nerves at his funny bone, making him flinch and shake his arm out.

_< Not cool, D.>_

_< Agent Carolina is correct. Your coffee consumption is…alarming_.>

“ _I don’t know._ ” Carolina paused on the other end. “ _Probably more time. The caves are messy.”_

“Okay.” York started relocking all the padlocks he had collected, letting Delta get distracted by simulations so he could try for the coffee again. “Do you want me to come out and meet you? We could cover more ground togeth— _shit._ ” Delta zapped him again, clearly not that distracted.

“ _What did you do?”_

“Banged my elbow,” York lied.

“ _Really_.”

“Yup. Question still stands, you want backup out there? You can handle yourself, no question, but legwork’s always a pain.”

It took a moment for her to answer. “ _I…no. You should stay there, you’ve got enough on your plate. I can handle this.”_

“I know you can.” One of the trackers he had installed in the hallway flickered, which meant the ducklings were starting to arrive. “And you are not wrong, I have to go. Do you need me to do anything?”

“ _Just try not to get yourself into too much trouble_.”

“Trouble? Me?” The door started to open, so he rushed out a, “Bye, love you,” and cut off the connection.

* * *

 

On the other end, Carolina had to stop where she was checking over the Mongoose and stare at nothing for a long time, her hand hovering near her helmet. Epsilon prompted her after three minutes.

 _< Sooner we go, sooner we can get back_.>

< _Right._ >

* * *

 

York was lucky the first one there was Ashraf, because he had the puzzle he wanted her to work on prepared already and could hand it to her and let her leave with instructions to bring it back when she was done.

From the knotwork on some of the traps she’d been responsible for and the paperwork Delta had caught her shuffling, he wasn’t expecting her to take long to finish. He also wasn’t expecting her to get it back to him when she finished.

York used the rest of the time as efficiently as possible and when Kulkarni and Sampson showed up, he tossed a lock at each of them. “I’ve got thirty-one of these. Person who gets the most open gets to try something new.”

Sampson scoffed, turning the lock over. “You really think we’re competitive enough you can get us to do whatever you want by making it a contest?”

York thought about it. “Yes.”

“I’m done,” Kulkarni pointed out, and then grabbed another lock.

Sampson made a face but dumped his lock—already picked without York noticing—on the table.

York left them to it and waited for Valdez to show up. It took a few minutes.

“So what’s going on?” Valdez sounded bored.

“Ever picked an encrypted lock before?”

Valdez blinked slowly, but York could see him straighten with interest. “No.”

“Want to try?”

He got a suspicious stare in return. “Where is this lock?”

“For the next hour, right here.”

“And after that?”

“Oh…probably on your room.”

“You’re a dick.”

“This is true.” York slid the encrypted lock’s keypad across the table to him. “Have fun.”

“Done!” Kulkarni crowed, plunking down the last lock. Sampson made a disgusted huff but finished his own padlock, still moving smoothly enough that York couldn’t see how he did it.

York had Delta make a note and tossed the complicated electronic lock he had found to Kulkarni. “Congratulations, go nuts. Delta, can you supervise?”

The cadets all paused for a moment to stare at Delta’s appearance over the table. Delta nodded politely, and then vanished again. York still wasn’t sure where he had picked up that particular mannerism, since York had never been polite in his life. “Sampson, come with me.”

Delta couldn’t maintain a projection for any range longer than fifteen feet, so he was humming away in the back of York’s head as they walked, but it should keep Kulkarni and Valdez in line. The two of them were both among the oldest of the recruits—which meant almost thirty instead of their teens or early twenties—so they should have plenty in common. They’d both been pushing the limits for long enough that they could recognize boundaries almost before they were set, and they’d only follow them if they liked the person setting them. York hoped that was true in his case.

If they were both in the room when he came back, he’d assume it was.

 _< I have taken the liberty of predicting any questions and pre-recording some responses, so they will not suspect I have left. I cannot trust that my predictions are as accurate as they would be for, say, you, but they should be accurate enough._>

“So, Sampson,” York began as he turned down another hallway leading further into the base. “How do you tell a successful lie?”

“Tell people what they want to hear,” Sampson responded almost immediately.

“And if that’s not what you want them to believe?”

He shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets. “Misdirection. Keep them busy guessing what’s going on somewhere else that they never see what you’re up to in the part you care about. Make them think you’re invested in what they’re doing, so they get even more invested. Make them feel important enough and they’ll distract themselves.”

York paused at an intersection. “You were with the New Republic, weren’t you?”

“Still am.”

York took the left turn after a quick consultation with Delta. He was starting to get a pretty good idea of how Felix had operated. “What do you do if you’re on the spot? No time to come up with a clever story or plan a scheme, just you and the true answer and the answer someone else wants to hear.”

“Same thing. Just talk faster. And be confident.” They shared about seven feet of silence before Sampson said, “You didn’t really leave the green guy there, did you.”

_< Delta, you want to take this?>_

“No. He did not.” Delta appeared on York’s right side, to better talk to Sampson. “What led you to this conclusion?”

“Just seemed like something you’d do.”

“Half-truth, not bad.” York took the corner a little faster, forcing Sampson to hurry to catch up. “You want to tell me all of it?”

Sampson was silent for a moment, clearly considering this, and eventually admitted, “You get this faraway look sometimes. Like you’re not really listening.” York stayed quiet for a little longer, waiting to see if he’d come out with anything else. “Plus I used to help out around HQ. I saw that Agent Carolina’s guy was always around her.” York gave him another fifteen seconds, but it seemed like he was done.

“Not bad. Sound a little more like you believe yourself next time and I might actually believe you.”

“The faraway look thing was true.”

“It’s a bad habit. Although it’s not all Dee’s fault.”

_< Right turn, York.>_

“Riddle me this, then. How do you catch a liar?”

“Listen to what they don’t say and don’t believe what they show you.”

“Clearly you’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Like you said. I was with the New Republic.”

“But you have to know they’re lying to do that. So how do you catch a liar?”

“Prove them wrong.”

“But how do you figure out there’s anything to prove wrong?”

There was a very long silence while Sampson thought. They started to pass people as they entered more populated areas of the base.

“Know more than they do?”

“Pretty much. The only way to catch a liar is to catch them in a lie. You can know more than they do, or you can get them to contradict themselves, or you can expose them another way. Ah, there he is!” York spotted Mohammed up ahead, standing by the corner of a corridor, and waved. “Hey, Mohammed, how do you catch a liar?” He kept walking, and Sampson followed his lead, so Mohammed fell in behind them.

“Know they’re lying?”

York paused, and then had to step to the side before they could crash into them. “An efficient answer.” He started walking again, Delta rattling off directions. “How do you find out they’re lying, though?”

“Watch for what doesn’t fit.”

“What if they’re good liars and make everything fit?” Sampson challenged.

“Then…I don’t know, find something else.” Mohammed sounded frustrated. York added on a little extra speed as he finally caught sight of Campos talking to…hmm. He could work with that.

“Russo, Campos! Just who I was looking for.”

Campos had a calm smile pulled up before he even finished turning around, and York had to suppress a laugh.

“Why?” Russo, on the other hand, treated him to a deeply suspicious look.

“Why not?” York glanced around the hallway. There were a few people scattered around, watching while trying to look like they weren’t. “I’ll tell you somewhere else.”

He set off down the hallway, assuming they would follow.

_< Based on her past reactions when provided with minimal information, your chances of being stabbed by Private Russo have just increased.>_

York walked a little bit faster.

“Campos, Russo, how do you catch a liar?”

“Lie better.” York wasn’t surprised that that was Campos’ answer. It certainly explained a lot.

Russo didn’t answer for a long minute, and then she asked, “In what context?”

“In general.”

“It doesn’t _work_ like that.” She sounded frustrated. York stopped in a dead-end hallway and turned around to see her clenching her fists. “It depends on context. If—if someone’s lying about taking food from the mess hall, but you can see the package under the bed, they’re lying, yeah, but that’s different than if someone has a, a secret and they keep—” she waved one hand around wildly, forcing Campos to take a step back. “—dodging questions or misdirecting or something like that, and you don’t know if it’s just them or something bigger or something private or stupid.”

York watched her for a minute to see if she would get flustered or say anything else, but she just stood her ground, a fierce look on her face.

“Well, none of you are wrong. And yes, everything depends on context, but some things are constants. Watching for those can help.

“Liars are too comfortable, sometimes. They know people expect them to be uncomfortable, so they overcompensate. You can startle them into losing track of their story, sometimes. The best ones don’t do this, because they make themselves believe what they’re saying. And they make you believe it.”

“Like you?” Mohammed had his arms crossed, retreating into a defensive position.

York settled for grinning and shrugging. “I try to avoid lying, mostly.”

He got several skeptical looks for his troubles, so it was probably time to move on.

“Ever played two truths and a lie?”

Now they were looking at him like he was crazy, which wasn’t really better, but at least they nodded.

“Great. That’s your assignment.”

“You want us to play a drinking game with you?”

“Use alcohol at your own discretion. And definitely not with me, I have a reputation to maintain,” he joked. “With each other.”

They all shifted their “this person is crazy” looks to each other while he talked. “Practice. See how many you can pull over on each other. See how long it takes you before you can pull it off, or catch someone else every time. Rope other people into playing if you want, but only what you get counts. Keep me updated on who’s winning.”

“What do we win?”

“Bragging rights. Plus, whoever’s caught the most lies or gotten away with them at the end of…let’s say a week, gets one of my secrets.”

That got their attention, and York gave them a thumbs-up. “Have fun.” He ducked behind them and wandered off into the hall, back the way he had come.

 

* * *

 

Vanessa was walking around base. Ostensibly, she was inspecting things, which meant that people would pass word ahead and everyone would make sure to look busy doing important things whenever she walked by.

She was pretty sure the Feds—the former Feds—were to blame for that, because her soldiers were all too used to her just wandering around trying to figure out what was about to fall apart next. Having to work through more official channels meant having people who could do that for her, but also having to act more official, slapping a “General” in front of her name and watching the kids she used to take on patrol and talk to about their lives and hopes and dreams snap to salutes and hold themselves straighter like they were worried they’d disgrace themselves.

She’d mentioned this to Irene once, and Irene had thrown a file folder at her and said “Don’t be an idiot, they’re worried they’ll disgrace _you_.”

Which was another thing to be mad about, but also made something clench painfully in her chest. She tried not to think about it.

Vanessa was really starting to regret leaving her office without her helmet, because not only did she feel far too exposed, she kept making what may or may not be eye contact and had to keep nodding in acknowledgement.

Plus, everything looked different with it off. She kept squinting at walls, not sure if they’d been painted since all the troops had moved in or if that was how they had always looked without the grainy quality of a visor.

A pair of soldiers started banging away at a Warthog engine as she got closer, and she stopped and watched just to see how long they could manage to keep it up. When they started shooting increasingly desperate looks in her direction, she nodded and moved on, trying very hard not to laugh. Another thing helmets were good for, as she had learned since becoming an official “superior officer.” Felix had—

Vanessa ruthlessly quashed that line of thinking and detoured through the medbay to check in with Grey and Doc Vidal.

She found them bent over a tray of needles, muttering to each other over the clinking of bottles.

Vidal waved a hand at her. “Kimball, I need your opinion on something.”

Hoping it wasn’t the moonshine she still wasn’t supposed to know about, Vanessa went to join them.

“That new Freelancer of yours, the troublemaker—think he’d be any good at supply runs?” Vidal asked. Her voice was low, meant not to carry.

“He’s not mine,” Vanessa felt obliged to point out, because Vidal was an old friend and ought to know better. “But I can ask him.

“Good.” Vidal let out a short, harsh exhalation. “I know you’ve got Agent Carolina on her toes trying to track down the pirates, but we’re starting to run low on inoculation stuff.”

“Wouldn’t want to enter summer without a steady supply!” Grey chirped, cheerful tone belying her concern. Vanessa remembered all too well the couple of years where they hadn’t had enough inoculations against Chorus’ insect life. Armor helped, but no one could live in it.

The first year she had been in charge, thirteen people had died from disease before Felix had brought them a crate of vaccines.

“Send me a memo with whatever else you need, I’ll pass it on to York.”

Vidal nodded before going off to supervise whatever the two trainees in the corner were doing.

“ _Speaking_ of memos, did you get mine about a possible mission to some of the nearby towers?”

“I did, I just have to pass it along to Gowda so she can sign off.”

“Oh, thank you. I know you must have a thousand other things on your plate.”

“Nothing new there.” They shared a wry look that carried through Grey’s visor, one of complete and total understanding. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Going to go see _York_?”

Vanessa blinked, because what had that inflection been for? “I’m expecting him to turn up in my office soon enough. He’s been teaching Irene to pick locks.”

“I _see_.” The inflection again. “Well, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing, then.” She waved and vanished into the back room, carrying the tray of clinking bottles.

Vanessa left the medbay and headed straight for her favorite cave with radioactive algae, suddenly desperate for some peace and quiet.

* * *

 

This corner of the base was still blessedly undisturbed. Of course, without her helmet, it took three minutes for her face to start tingling uncomfortably and then she had to leave.

Radiation proof armor. Never knew what you had until the microphone broke and it was gone.

Vanessa had been restraining herself from going to check the quartermaster’s office because she knew that Hollis had a lot on zir plate and also that once she started she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from checking constantly. But it had been two days and she was very tired of stealing Irene’s tablet to stay appropriately updated and having to worry all the time about what her eyebrows were doing when she had a sensitive conversation with someone, so she headed in that direction as quickly as she could without alarming anybody. Which wasn’t very quick.

Along the way, she caught sight of Grif and Simmons having an argument with Tucker, which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but she turned to see if it was something she could try to resolve anyways.

Vanessa made it six steps in their direction when Tucker shouted out “Oh, _fuck you!_ ” and spun around, stomping away.

He caught sight of her and froze, holding very still for a long second before changing directions and stomping away from her as well as his friends. It seemed like going after him would be a bad idea.

Vanessa did stop to look at Grif and Simmons. Simmons had a chronically guilty posture and Grif was clutching his rifle too tightly, ready to break something. Both of them were standing a little too close to each other.

She looked away and kept moving. She _really_ wanted her helmet back.

Except Hollis didn’t have her helmet.

The two of them had a pleasant chat, Hollis started to rattle off the long list of supplies they were running low on and was persuaded to send it to Irene instead, and Kimball cautiously steered the conversation towards her helmet.

“What?” Hollis scratched at zir shoulder. “Yours? Tan and blue, got sent in with a busted mic and faulty filtration systems? Glitching visor already registered?”

“Yes.” There was no point trying to rush zem, Hollis’s thoughts moved at their own pace. Vanessa waited, keeping her face calm and patient.

“Mic and filtration were logged as fixed this morning. Someone came by to pick it up.”

“Do you know who?”

“Nope.”

“Do you know _when?”_ Could Irene have done it and forgotten to tell her?

“Mmmm…” Hollis pulled out the cobbled-together loose visor ze kept in a back pocket and slid it on, tapping away at thin air with one hand. “Says at 0600.”

“Who was here at 0600?”

“I was.”

“…Okay.” Dammit. “Do you want me to make sure someone sends coffee from the mess hall?”

“We’re fine here.”

“Okay.” Vanessa made a mental note to send some anyways. “Let me know if you remember, or if someone brings it back, please?”

“Sure.”

Vanessa headed for her office, trying to put the pieces together in her head. Helmet got dropped off. Helmet got repaired. Helmet got collected by unknown variable and spirited to somewhere unknown.

Maybe Irene could track it, or see if York had heard anything about it through his network.

“Vanessa!”

Speak of the devil. Vanessa looked up from her thoughts to see York approaching, light on his feet as he weaved between clusters of people moving from place to place. The first thing that came to mind was a memory from last night, of her dark office after midnight and Carolina’s soft voice over the radio wishing her goodnight with her first name. Vanessa immediately shoved the memory back down as York drew closer.

“Got something for you.” He held up one hand, light bouncing off a blue visor.

“You picked up my helmet?” She tried not to let too much irritation leak into her tone.

“This morning. Sorry I didn’t let you know, I was a little…distracted.” He handed it over. “I brought it to your office, but you weren’t there, and Irene said you’d probably be over here.”

“You—” Kimball paused after she took the helmet. “York. You picked this up from the quartermaster’s, took it to my office, and then brought it all the way back here across camp.”

“Yes?” He shifted on his feet, brushing one hand across the back of his head. He was out of armor, again. “I figured you’d be worried when you realized it was gone.”

“Why were you there at six in the morning anyways?”

“Oh, you know. Delta gets restless.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “Besides, early to bed and early to rise. And all the good coffee is brewed before five.” York grinned at his own rhyme.

Vanessa left off asking any more questions in favor of pulling her helmet back onto her head.

It was dark for a brief moment as the mechanisms synced back up with her suit’s power supply, and then it lit up slowly, text scrolling across the screen.

The startup program always took a minute or so to fully activate after a reboot, so it took her a minute before she realized what was different in her vision.

“I—did you fix my screen?”

York’s grin was clearer than it had been through her old visor. “Got pretty good at replacing equipment on the run. Found some spare parts, figured I’d give it a shot. It works?”

“Like a charm.” She finally had access to atmospheric and pressure readouts again. “Thank you, York.”

“What’s a little helmet repair between friends?” The grin was small, light and easy.

Hm. Friends.

It shifted a little just a bit to something self-deprecating. “I, ah…might have gotten Wilkinson to upgrade the encryption on the microphone. As a side project. Just in case.”

Vanessa knew Yamka Wilkinson. The cadet had a fondness for and skill with computers that wasn’t always directed in the most…productive fashion, but was always extremely effective. She had sometimes helped Vanessa with decrypting Federal Army files. Her work could be trusted to be solid. “Well. Pass along my thanks to her as well.”

“Will do.”

She waited for a request without realizing, waited for him to ask for something or tell her they were running low on one thing or another, or really make any kind of request. But York just waited right back, rolling a little on the balls of his feet. In armor, the motion would have been almost invisible.

He was out of armor, again.

“Need anything else?” he asked, polite.

Vanessa considered it for a moment. “No. Not right now.” Something occurred to her. “Wait, I take that back—if you could get some coffee over to the quartermaster’s, that would be a big help.”

“I’ll…see what I can do.” The smile dropped away into a pensive frown.

“If you can’t, I can just—”

“Vanessa, really. I’ll see what I can do.” The grin came back, softening the words. “Let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

“I…I will. Thank you.”

He walked off again with a wave, and Vanessa paused to look around, taking in the base through her new visor.

Friends. She thought she was okay with that.

Vanessa got all the way back to her office before she realized she had forgotten to ask York about going on a supply run and had to resist the urge to slap herself in the face.

* * *

 

Carolina was, in a word, frustrated. She had been searching the caves for three days now, circling around dead ends and tunnels and trying to find places Church could scan for heartbeats and heat signatures.

Nothing, nothing, and nothing again.

She kept going, searching for any kind of sign whatsoever because she was determined not to disappoint Kimball’s trust in her, but when she had reached a five-mile radius with no luck, Carolina conceded defeat.

Ungracefully and with the kicking of many trees, but she conceded defeat.

Epsilon stayed quiet while she drove on to the pirate bases, determined to get at least _something_ useful out of this mess.

But all the bases were just like the first, stripped of any kind of equipment or data, and Carolina’s frustration mounted more and more with each useless. Empty. _Base_.

When she called York on her sixth night away from camp, like she’d done after three nights of nightmares because she could take a hint at some point, he let her vent until her heartrate slowed and her mind calmed down enough that Epsilon logged back on and poked a cautious inquiry out.

“Sorry,” she said, staring up at the unfamiliar constellations beyond the branches. “It’s been a hell of a week.”

“ _So I gathered. Does that mean you’re coming back soon?”_

“Probably tomorrow.”

 _“Okay. I might not be here. I—shit, hold on a second._ ”

She tilted her head, listening to the sound of thumping and scraping on the other end.

“ _We may need to move rooms. Or upgrade to a holographic lock._ ”

Carolina choked out something between a groan and a laugh. “York, what did you _do_?”

“ _Taught Valdez how to pick an encrypted lock. Haven’t any of these kids ever heard of privacy?_ ”

“Please tell me you’re not hiding in the ceiling.”

“ _…..I’m not hiding in the ceiling_.”

“You’re a terrible liar. Why won’t you be there tomorrow?”

“ _Am not. And it turns out they’re running low on a vaccine against some of the native insect life. Vanessa thinks she has a line on a cache, she asked me to check it out and confirm before a team gets sent out.”_

“Okay.” Carolina shifted. It was a good thing that York had something to do. “Sure your ducklings won’t bring the base down while you’re gone?”

“ _They’ll be fine._ ”

“They’ve chased you into the ceiling.” She started to smile despite herself.

_“In other news, I got hugged by Lopez today.”_

She went with the blatant attempt to change the subject. “Lopez? He _hugged_ you?”

“ _Turns out I still know how to make a cocktail that can get a robot drunk. I thought he might cry. I think he’s passed out somewhere right now._ ” He paused. “ _I don’t know if he’ll have a hangover or not. I hope not, really._ ”

“Where did you learn how to make a robot drunk?”

“ _Oh, this was back when I was running around with Tex…”_ He trailed off. “ _It was a while ago_.”

Carolina’s good mood drifted away as quickly as it had arrived. She was silent for so long that York asked, “ _Lina? You still with me?”_

“Yeah, I’m here.” She could feel Epsilon slinking off again and turned over, curling in on herself a little. “So what did Lopez do when you got him drunk?”

“ _Vanished somewhere. Delta thinks he heard some cadets screaming, so I’m going to assume he’s happily terrorizing soldiers. Demanding the meaning of life, probably. Possibly finding ways to murder Sarge._ ”

He was chattering in a way that she knew meant he could go on all by himself for a while, and she was suddenly very tired, so she cut him off.

“Thanks, York.”

“ _You going to sleep now?”_

“Yeah. I think I am.”

“ _Alright. Goodnight, Carolina. Love you_.”

He hung up before she had to decide whether she could bring herself say it back. He’d been doing that, lately, ending all their calls with the phrase like it was easy and right and natural, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop. Especially when he gave her an out without ever having to be asked.

Carolina pressed her cheek further into the side of her helmet and felt something leak out onto her cheek. She was asleep in moments.

She didn’t have nightmares. Just rough-edged and restless dreams of exhaustion and trying and failing and never being good enough, images that blurred into each other and left her waking up tired.

The word _failure_ pounded itself through her heartbeat all the long way back to headquarters.

 

* * *

 

Carolina came back a week after the day Vanessa’s microphone broke and reported in almost immediately. Vanessa had been trading drafts of a potential outreach letter to the UNSC with Gowda and was dealing with crafting political language on the level of “take our planet seriously” as well as “good old passive aggression” but she closed the screen regardless to give Carolina’s report her full attention.

It wasn’t precisely heartening.

“I checked all the bases over again. Any supplies are completely cleared out. There were some remains of Charon’s hybrid weaponry, but all of them were nonfunctional to the point where I’m surprised they weren’t smoking.” Her voice was tired. “Any information that had been there was either fried or flat-out erased. Keddersville was an absolute bust. I checked through all the caves within five miles of the city, and there were no signs of habitation. Not even of storage.”

“I see,” Vanessa said, voice neutral as her mind started to whirl. The sim troopers had checked, the joint squad had checked, _Carolina_ had checked—Gowda had to concede that the pirates hadn’t been outside Keddersville. That meant they had to be in the city, which meant she had been _right_ and they could finally get down to _fixing_ this. “Thank you, Agent Carolina.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I—” she somehow drew even further up into a steel-spined attention. “I keep failing you. I’m sorry.”

Vanessa’s thoughts screeched to a halt.

Vanessa knew that one of her few true talents lay with words. She would never be a great writer, never compose epic tales or novels or poetry that could bring people to tears, but she had a knack for knowing what to say and how to say it that had been finely honed by years of practice. She always tried to think before she spoke, taking care to consider how it would affect the other party and convince them of her point.

But she was so startled at Carolina’s apology that all that came out was, “You’re kidding, right?”

Carolina’s posture slipped just a fraction and Vanessa thought she might be staring. She took advantage of the silence to try and articulate everything that burst into her head because—that was just _wrong_.

“Carolina, I—what you’ve done for us is beyond anything I could have hoped for a year ago. You’ve saved the lives of everyone on this planet countless times, and not just in dramatic stands like the one at the Tower of the Purge, either. You’re an incredible fighter, a brilliant strategist, a strong leader—you’ve trained and taught my troops so they could stay alive. You’ve brought us information that quite literally turned the tide of this fight. You’ve given everyone here more than hope, you’ve given us real, tangible, constant support, and I cannot tell you enough how much that has done for Chorus.” _For me._ “We could spend the rest of our lives thanking you, and it still wouldn’t be fair compensation for all you’ve given us.” Vanessa could feel something rising far too warm in her cheeks, but it wasn’t anxiety from acknowledging the debt that had built between them. Carolina had to know by now just how deeply Chorus owed her, for giving and giving without ever asking in return. If she chose to collect that debt, Vanessa would still hand over whatever payment came to hand and watch her walk away without a single twinge or tremor until she was gone because she had really done that, saved Vanessa’s life and the lives of every single person she still commanded.

Vanessa could remember the aftermath of the last battle of the civil war, when she was dead on her feet and her voice was hoarse from yelling at Doyle and she was reeling from the aftermath of betrayal after betrayal and stopping herself from rushing down to the infirmary to check that the Reds and Blues were alive, really alive and here and that meant her ragtag bunch of fighters still had a ghost of a chance. Could remember how Carolina had come to meet with her before Vanessa could even send for her and opened the meeting by putting a datastick on her desk.

Vanessa had left it there and settled her stance, relying on her armor to keep her upright. She’d started to talk about how she had no idea what the Federal Army had to hand, but the New Republic had very little it could offer in terms of payment, unless Carolina would be interested in alien weaponry.

Looking back, Vanessa probably should have saved the conversation for another time, but she had been exhausted and furious in a way that was just beginning to subside into a stomach-scraping ache. She had been desperate to bring what was something new and terrifying onto solid ground, to frame it in terms she could understand and deal with.

Carolina had interrupted her, explaining that she wasn’t there for payment, that she didn’t want it, and Vanessa had braced and waited for the other shoe to drop.

But it hadn’t, not then and not ever. Carolina had just left the data she collected from Charon and then informed Vanessa that she would be in the infirmary if Vanessa or Doyle had any more questions for her.

Vanessa could remember how she had stared at that datastick for a long time, stomach churning as she tried to make her mind reconcile the anomaly that was Carolina’s existence alongside everything else she knew about the world.

She had been afraid to speak of the arrangement for a while, even as it grew and she found herself relying on Carolina more easily every time she went out and came back with supplies and then asked what else she could do, every time Vanessa caught herself ranking what needed to be done by priority and price and realized she didn’t have to worry about payment anymore.

Trust started out so fragile and before Vanessa had noticed it had grown to something as strong and steady as the steel of her rifle in her hands, and she could speak of it without worrying it would vanish like mist in sunlight. And now it seemed she needed to speak of it.

Vanessa had always known that she couldn’t keep Carolina here—always known that if Carolina wanted to go, she would be already gone.

It had never occurred to her that Carolina didn’t know that.

“You don’t owe us…owe me…anything. You and your skills have been a gift, Carolina. You haven’t failed. You have nothing you need to prove to anyone on this planet.”

“I _know_ that,” Carolina said. Her voice was knotted with frustration. She didn’t sound convinced.

“I should hope so.” Vanessa sighed. “I know trying to assign you leave is pointless, but, please. Stay on base for the next few days. The information you found means we have to take some time to reevaluate our next course of action. You need to take a break, Carolina. I’m not above recruiting York to help when he gets back.” She wasn’t, either, He had begun to hang out in her office more in the evenings, continuing to chat with Irene and wreak mayhem in his own unpredictable way. A few times, she had been coaxed out into conversation, especially because it turned out Delta was as good at crunching numbers as York had claimed when they first met. She was confident he’d be on her side in this.

“Oh god, you guys are _friends_.” Epsilon appeared over Carolina’s shoulder, sounding vaguely horrified. “What, have you met Delta too?”

“We had a conversation.” Vanessa knew Epsilon would suck her in if she gave him an inch, so she turned back to Carolina while he sputtered. “I won’t try to stop you from training, yourself or other people. I doubt I could. But please try to slow down, at least a little. We can’t afford to lose you, Carolina. You’re not replaceable.”

“When’s the last time you had a break, Kimball?”

“That’s different.” And it was. “All I do is shuffle around paperwork and talk to people. And I don't even do that very _well_ , or Felix would have gotten rid of me back during the war. I stepped up to do this because someone had to. The same thing will happen when I'm gone."

And now it seemed to be Carolina’s turn to stare and Vanessa’s turn to pull herself up uncomfortably. Epsilon’s projection vanished.

“You’re kidding, right?” Carolina echoed Vanessa’s earlier response in an impressively flat tone. “I’m pretty sure that this base would go down in flames without you.”

Vanessa felt something warm crawl up her face again, and it wasn’t her own fault this time. “My people are resilient. They’d bounce back.”

“You’re not replaceable either, Vanessa.” Carolina’s voice was softer than usual, but firm. “But fine. I’ll stay here until you have another mission for me, and I’ll slow down my schedule. _If_ you do the same thing.”

Vanessa blinked, flabbergasted. “I can’t. I have too much to…” she trailed off as Carolina shifted her posture, cocking one elbow. “Alright, fine. You win. Do whatever you like.”

“I will.” Carolina sounded very pleased with herself, which at least was better than the defeated, bitter tone from earlier. Even if it did exasperate Vanessa. “Let me know as soon as you need anything, Kimball.” She left, and Vanessa could hear her greeting Irene on the way out.

Vanessa went back to work and got halfway through her edits before it hit her that Carolina had called her by her first name, _again_ , and she had to drop her stylus and rest her helmet against the desk to muffle her groan.

* * *

 

The first thing Carolina did was go back to her room to see if York had made good on his threat to install a holographic lock. The second thing she did was go to the gym to see if there was someone she could trick into sparring with her.

The first thing she saw when she walked in was Wash, on the punching bag, clearly working something out. He looked up when she walked in and gave a quick nod of acknowledgement before going back to his work.

Carolina felt a sharky grin break out as she settled down to stretch.

She didn’t take long, because something was starting to hum tight and impatient under her skin, but she did make sure to stretch everything. The last thing she wanted was to strain something and give Kimball an excuse to force her into medical leave.

“Up for a spar?” she called, bounding to her feet as soon as Wash took a brief pause.

He groaned, loudly, and slumped his forehead against the bag, but pulled away and met her on the mats regardless. She bounced on the balls of her feet. “We haven’t done this in a while.”

“And I haven’t horribly bruised something in a while, either. Funny how that works.”

His voice was very dry as he fell into a stance and they started circling each other.

“Doesn’t hurt if you don’t let it hit you,” she told him, and then lunged.

During the Project, she’d put Wash on the floor time after time. He’d clearly learned from it by now, lasting longer and longer every time they went up against each other.

He hadn’t beat her yet, but then she hadn’t bested every single one of his range scores, so she supposed they both had things to work on.

They had a whole round to themselves before the word got out and a crowd showed up to watch. Both of them were used to fighting in front of an audience, so they continued on anyways and tuned out the furious betting in the background.

Eventually, she got Wash pinned on the floor in a way he couldn’t wiggle out of and he tapped out with a groan. There were cheers and groans from the peanut gallery.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Wash might not have been training the majority of them anymore, but they still cleared out fast enough at his Drill Sergeant Voice of Doom.

Carolina thought of him years ago, wandering the halls of the MOI looking for a sauna, and bit down on a laugh so she wouldn’t ruin his image.

“Very impressive.”

“Thanks.” He unwrapped his knuckles, rubbing at a spot on his thigh where he’d managed to take a pretty bad hit. “I thought York coming back would at least mean you’d kick someone _else’s_ ass on a regular basis.”

“Eh.” 

The two of them walked to lunch together in a comfortable silence, occasionally punctuated with small shoves and elbows.

Carolina ignored the first two, because they could have been accidents, but when Wash’s elbow jabbed her in the side _again_ and she caught a hint of a smirk on his face, she grabbed him in a headlock and started to ruffle his hair.

“Hey— _hey!_ ” He batted at her arm, ineffectually, and then tried to pull forward and down to knock her off her feet. She rolled with the momentum and crashed him into the floor, and things devolved from there.

They may have knocked over a few crates. It was fine.

 

* * *

 

“What happened to _you_ two?” Simmons asked when they showed up to lunch together. Carolina had an impressive bruise swelling on her cheekbone and Wash was limping.

“Nothing,” they said in unison. It wasn’t exactly convincing. Wash immediately shoved some of the green mash into his mouth and chewed industriously while Carolina examined her fork.

She expected Simmons, or at least Grif, to keep pressing the issue, but when she looked up she realized that the rest of the sim troopers were just as busy digging into their plates and not talking to each other. Caboose was the exception, chattering happily at Sarge.

“Did I miss a fight?”

Grif, Simmons, and Tucker all said “No” at the same time. It wasn’t exactly convincing.

“Ooookay then.” Carolina tried the green mash for herself. It was better than last week’s green mash but not the week’s before that.

“Right—” Wash swallowed his mouthful after Tucker gave him a pointed glare, and then kept talking. “—you were out. Kimball broached the topic of us leaving.”

Carolina’s fork froze in her hand. “She what?”

“It was more of a suggestion than anything else—did she not mention this to you?”

“I—no.” Carolina took another mouthful of green mash.

“She said that if we wanted to get off Chorus, we could have a ship as soon as one was ready,” Tucker muttered.

“I mean, it’s the least they could do,” Grif said, not looking at any of them.

“We are _not having this conversation here,_ ” Simmons hissed at Grif.

Wash leaned closer to Carolina so they could talk without drawing attention while the rest started arguing. “She brought it up to Tucker, but I talked to her about it too. It really was just more to gauge the situation than anything else. She’s not trying to chase us out. I think she just wants to make sure that we don’t get stuck here against our wills.”

“I take it there’s some disagreement?”

Grif slammed down his spoon before Wash could answer, knocking over his coffee mug. “We almost _died_. Again. They can do fine without us, we don’t owe them _shit_.”

“It’s not about _owing_ them anything—”

“Will both of you just _shut up!”_

Simmons’ shout seemed to be enough to close the conversation. Tucker let out an indecipherable noise and grabbed his tray, stomping away.

“Look what you made me do, you jackass!” Grif yelled after him.

“Just lick it off the goddamn table!”

“There’s some disagreement,” Wash admitted after the atmosphere had settled back down to a chilly silence. Sarge and Caboose were looking concerned at the other end of the table. Donut and Doc were nowhere to be found.

“Great.”

 

* * *

 

It took York a few hours to sneak his way into the tunnels he’d been directed to.

It took him a few hours because in addition to multiple layers of security that ranged from old-school padlocks and chains to a couple of electronic locks, someone—several someones—had booby-trapped the _hell_ out of the area.

Vanessa had told him that most of the supplies stored there were non-perishable limited essentials—like vaccines, or specialized equipment, or surplus medications. Things that you needed, but not all the time, so you stuck them in a hole and guarded them. Originally, it had been a New Republic base, but during one of their retreats they hadn’t been able to clean it out so they’d just locked it down and booby-trapped it. When the Feds found it, they hadn’t wanted to waste the effort getting in for non-vital supplies, so they’d just slapped some traps and security of their own on top and left it alone. And then it fell back into the hands of the New Republic. Who had just enough time to add on _another_ layer of security before the Feds launched an offensive and then—

To make a long story short, Delta and York were currently seven layers in and Delta was decrypting a 24-digit lock while York disconnected a tripwire from a bucket of greenish liquid that smelled vaguely like the insides of a sheep.

They hadn’t had this much fun in _years_.

“Kind of sad we have to break all this down so the troops can get in here,” York told Delta as he cut the wire. “I’d love to make the ducklings run this.”

“That seems unfair.” Delta broke the code and they moved forward another couple of feet, scanning the walls with infrared vision until they spotted a flashlight on the floor. “Explosives detected.”

“Yeah, I figured.” York gently nudged the flashlight bomb out of the way with his toe, careful not to bump the switch. “Seems pretty low-tech.”

“There is some residue on the walls,” Delta announced. “That, in addition to the lack of sophisticated electronic equipment ahead, would seem to indicate we are nearing the end.”

“ _Sweet_.”

This was fun, York would admit—something about digging through layer after layer of unique puzzles let his thoughts keep curving for once, not snagging on corners and turning back in on themselves in knots Delta usually helped him untangle.

But also he had lost count of tripwires and this was starting to get annoying.

The last layer of security turned out to just be an egg carton rigged to blow glitter in someone’s unlucky face and a pretty solid padlock. York tucked the carton somewhere he could find it later and set to work with the picks.

Once he actually got inside, he started poking through crates.

Someone had thought to mark the area with the medical supplies, so he started there first and it only took the two of them about forty-five minutes to find one filled with sealed injection packages.

Because York was a responsible agent, he took the time to count how many crates there were, as well as take one of the packages as a sample so the docs could confirm it was the right stuff.

And because York was, well, York, he stopped to pick up the egg carton glitterbomb on the way out.

* * *

 

It was a short errand to drop off the vaccine and get close enough for Delta to send the files once York got back to base. He was going to check in with Vanessa, of course, but he just had to check on something first.

“Glad to see none of you burned the base down while I was gone.”

The ducklings in the room no one had taken away from them yet all looked up at the sound of his voice, and some of them kept staring at his armor. York didn’t bother taking his helmet off. He was comfortable like this.

“Please. If it was that easy, Captain Caboose would have done it ages ago.” Sastry was perched on the edge of the table, a datapad in her hands.

A red head stuck out from under the table, peering up at him. “Did you find something that would make it easier?”

“Down, Starks. And no, I did not.”

She sighed in a dramatic “you ruin all my hopes” manner and retreated back under the table. Kulkarni passed her a delicate screwdriver before asking his own question.

“Did you at least find the vaccine?

“And do you know who’s going on the mission?” Alcala had string out, again.

“Maybe, and no I do not.” York let his gaze wander. Starks and Shaikh under the table, Sastry on top and Alcala sitting at one end, Kulkarni leaning next to Sastry and keeping an eye on the toolbox.

He moved out of the doorway just in time for Ashraf to come barreling down the hall and dive behind the table. “I’m not here!”

Before York could ask where she was supposed to be, there was a very loud stomping from the hall. He stuck his head out just in time to catch the attention of a very angry Fed.

“You!” She shoved a finger at York. “Have you seen Cadet Ashraf go by this way? Out of armor, carrying a file?”

“Nope. No cadets carrying files around here,” York told her, because he really hadn’t seen the file go by.

The woman growled, and then turned around and stomped away.

He gave her thirty seconds to get out of earshot, and then turned back to the room.

Ashraf’s head popped up, cautiously. “Is she gone?”

“Far as I can tell.”

Her focus zeroed in on him. “Who are—oh. Agent York?”

“The one and only, as far as I know. Please don’t tell me you stole files. I don’t want to have to lie about that.”

“I _borrowed_ files. I’ll put them back.”

“She knows you took them, and she’ll be able to check and figure out what you altered,” York pointed out.

“The files are a mess. I helped out with them, I _know_.” Ashraf flapped her hand. “By the time she can actually get around to figuring out whose I have, I’ll have put it back, and she won’t be able to tell.”

“But she’ll still know you did _something_.”

“Which is why I grabbed two files. I’m only messing with one.”

York sighs inside his helmet. Spare him from children who didn’t _think_ before they did things. “But now she isn’t going to _trust_ the files. Any of them.”

There was a pause, before Ashraf swore and thunked her head against the table.

“Let this be a lesson in why caution is necessary.” York heard Shaikh chuckling to herself, so he added, “Shaikh, I want you to work with Ashraf on sneakiness.”

“What?!”

“You’ve got the next week before I check. Use your own discretion. Try not to have too much fun.”

There were two groans. York could see Sastry watching with the kind of interest she saved for potential mayhem. Kulkarni just rolled his eyes.

 _< York. General Kimball is looking for you._>

“And with that, I’ll leave you to your games. Behave.” He ducked out the door, and then stuck his head back in. “Within reason.”

“Just get out of here, old man.”

York laughed to himself all the way down the hall.

 

* * *

 

York kept his armor on the rest of the day, readjusting to the weight and motion after a couple of weeks spent running around in civvies. By the time he got back to the room, though, he was very ready to pull it off and stack it in the corner next to Carolina’s.

Carolina herself wasn’t there, so York stashed the glitterbomb somewhere she probably wouldn’t stumble across it, wrote _do not open_ on top just in case, and started reviewing the latest reports at the desk with Delta.

It took a while because he had to keep cross-referencing everything to make sure it hadn’t come from one of the four he’d set to spreading misinformation and forcing the rest into being sneaky, but that was really only another step up from what he usually did.

And Vanessa hadn’t had any complaints about the ducklings getting all over the place when she’d called him in earlier, so clearly the strategy was working.

He and Delta were deep enough in information that they didn’t notice Carolina’s return until she was draped over his shoulders, peering at the data. He may have yelped.

“You’re out of it.” She settled her chin on top of his head.

“Wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“It’s 2100, York.”

“Whoops.” Delta shut down the screen, and he leaned back to rub his eyes.

“So.” Carolina leaned on him a little more. “We have a mission.”

“We do.”

“Together.”

“Yup.”

“For the first time in seven years.”

“That had occurred to me.” He hummed as she pressed one hand a little more firmly into his shoulder.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

“…is that a challenge?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Maybe.”

“Well…” he leaned the chair back, pressing against her weight. “Maybe you haven’t heard, but stealth is kind of my specialty.”

“Ah, yes. Because alarms going off everywhere is very stealthy.”

“Now _that_ was a challenge.” He tipped his head back and grinned up at her.

She laughed, and then yanked the chair off balance, sending them both tumbling onto the floor.

 

* * *

 

_Hey kids,_

_Got a hot date. Irene’s in charge. Be nice for the babysitter, do your chores, call me if someone throws up. Or actually, don’t. Don’t set anything on fire either. See you in three days._

_Seriously. No fire._

_-The old man_

 

* * *

 

After hearing so much about it, Carolina almost found Keddersville a letdown. It was one of the larger cities on the planet after the fall of Armonia, and had been a permanent civilian center. Carolina was pretty sure Felix and Locus had only allowed that because it would be easy enough to off the city in one go once the armies had been cut down.

That or they had just been planning to wait until they needed to reignite some tension between the two sides. Killing a population with affiliations to both sides would be a serious offense.

Still, calling it a “city” was a stretch. It was based in what once had been a city, but the population was closer to the size of a small town and congregated in the old downtown. The population was largely skewed towards the elderly, who weren’t capable of or interested in taking up arms, and included a small pacifist section of the planet’s population.

Carolina remembered listening to Kimball talk about the resettlement efforts, and even a few weeks in she could see the results, see some people in their late twenties and thirties moving around like every step they took was lighter than they expected it to be.

Carolina could sympathize. She and York had stashed their armor in a building on the outskirts while they did recon, and while walking around base was one thing, wandering the streets in just a jacket and jeans made her feel twitchy.

York let his left hand brush against her right one, and when she didn’t flinch or pull away he grabbed it all the way and gave her a light squeeze.

She squeezed back, and let out a long, slow exhale. This was fine. They could handle this.

The first part of the mission was recon. They couldn’t bring down the whole web of pirates in one trip, or even find them all, but if they could find one and track them they might be able to get some information out of their base.

But they couldn’t be seen, of course. That would be the mission-part of this mission.

For now, it was just the two of them, two soldiers on the streets of a city used to people walking like weapons. Two people enjoying an evening out.

Even though they were supposed to be undercover, Carolina felt like she had stopped hiding for the first time in years.

The entire population was clustered in about ten square blocks, which meant that they hadn’t gone too far before they spotted a bar and York’s steps slowed with definite interest.

“Good place for information,” he murmured, waggling his eyebrows.

“And alcohol?” she asked, not bothering to squash the smile climbing her cheek.

“That too. Come on.” York kept his hand in hers as he headed for the door, and she let herself be tugged after him, still smiling.

 

* * *

 

Carolina and York’s check-in came in the form of a text message Vanessa opened after dinner.

_First day recon, limited success. Identified three possible suspects. Will observe and report again in morning. Get some sleep._

Vanessa smiled to herself and closed the message, going back to work. She and Gowda were meeting again tomorrow, to see if they could behave enough like responsible adults to resolve issues in person, because they really needed to nail down the details of the transition of Chorus’ armed forces.

“Where is she?”

Grif’s angry voice echoed through the open door and Kimball looked up with a frown.

“Do you have an appointment?” Irene asked, voice bland.

“Oh, I have a—”

“Irene, it’s all right.” Kimball stood up. “He can come in.”

Grif stomped in. Irene closed the door behind him, looking annoyed.

“Did you need—”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we weren’t supposed to owe you squat once the war was over, right?”

“You’re not wrong,” Vanessa said, careful. He was very angry. “And you don’t.”

“Then what the fuck did you tell Tucker to make him think we do?” Grif crossed his arms, radiating hostility.

“I didn’t tell him anything!”

Grif’s fingers clenched with an audible creak of armor. “Like fuck you didn’t, because now he doesn’t want to leave! And he’s got Simmons on his side too!”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.” Vanessa set her own hands against the desk, refusing to back down.

“That’s exactly what you did, Kimball, that’s your _thing!_ You say words and convince people to do stupid shit like work with their enemies or run into a war and die for people they’ve never fucking met!”

“ _I don’t—_ ” Vanessa stopped herself from yelling and took a very deep breath.

“Yes. I talked to Tucker. Because I _know_ you want to leave. I’m not going to stop you, Grif. We had a deal.”

“Oh, _now_ she remembers the deal.”

 _Grif makes people angry to win arguments,_ she reminded herself, and kept her voice calm. “I started this conversation in the first place because things have gotten more complicated and you can’t leave yet.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“A _lot_ of reasons. For starters, we can’t spare any Pelicans right now—”

“I thought you said you weren’t trying to stop us! Not giving us a ship sure sounds like stopping us to me!”

“ _FOR STARTERS,_ ” she repeated, very loudly. “There’s also the fact that the UNSC has effectively declared us a do-not-fly zone because Hargrove’s still out there. There’s no guarantee that once you made it out of orbit you would be safe, or that the UNSC would even _let you go_ once you got _out_ of the no-fly zone.”

“You are fucking kidding me.”

“Talk to Carolina or Wash about UNSC regulations if you don’t believe me,” she told him flatly. “There’s a reason Chorus filed for independence.”

“Fine. _If_ you’re telling the truth, why the fuck wouldn’t you just tell us all this in the first place?”

“I thought I _did_. Grif, what the hell are you even trying to accuse me of?”

He uncrossed his arms, waving them around. “The fuck if I know what goes on in your head! For all I know you want us to stay with the army so you can use our reputations and your new alien weapons and shit to conquer the galaxy!”

“I— _conquer the galaxy_?”

“ _I don’t fucking know what you people are capable of!”_

“You’ve fought with us for almost a _year_ now, Grif, you know _exactly_ what we’re capable of.”

“And frankly, it scares the shit out of me. How many fucking times do we have to almost die for this army before we can leave?”

“You want to leave? Great! Fine! Captain Grif, I withdraw your commission and you are honorably discharged. By the standards of Chorus, you’re a civilian now. Six whole months before the rest of the army was supposed to manage it!” Vanessa dropped into her chair, suddenly exhausted. “ _Mr._ Grif. If that’s all you need—”

“Wait. Back the fuck up.” His voice wasn’t angry anymore, just suspicious. “What do you mean, six months?”

Vanessa sighed. There went the plans for secrecy. Gowda was going to yell at her.

“We’re announcing it in a week. The war’s _over_ , Grif. We’re not going to tempt fate waiting for it to break out again. Gowda and I have been making plans to dissolve the army. Those who can go home will. Those who can’t will have the option of joining a Conservation Force and work towards rebuilding the planet.”

“So you’re gonna go all pacifist now?”

“Not completely.” She pulled up the relevant files on her datapad as she talked. It was just raw data, but it was something. “We’re a colony planet that doesn’t station UNSC troops, so by law we have to maintain our own defense force or lose that privilege. Instead of an army, there’ll be a standing Defense Unit as part of the Force.” She turned the datapad around so he could see it. “Anyone who signs up for a term of service in the Force and doesn’t object will be rotated through the unit as a part of their service, but it won’t be a permanent posting. If we can help it, Chorus will never have an army again.”

“And let me guess. If we stayed, you’d want us to join?” He spared a glance for the pad, so she counted it as a win.

“If you stayed you’d be entitled to the same mustering-out benefits as anyone else. Housing. Medical care. Rations.”

“ _Good_ rations?”

“I’m not—” Vanessa threw up her hands. “I’m not _bargaining_ this, Grif. Go or stay if you want. Not because I did anything to make you. And for godssakes, work out whatever lovers’ quarrel you’re having with Simmons on your own.”

 

* * *

 

It took some persistence and spending most of the next day hanging out on rooftops, but York and Carolina finally managed to catch two of their targets entering the same abandoned apartment complex on the edge of Keddersville’s inhabited zone. Epsilon and Delta both confirmed that there were some really wonky energy readings, and not the normal “planet filled with alien tech” kind of readings either.

That night, Carolina stayed to do surveillance while York went to grab their armor, because heat signature scans could be tricked, especially in a temperate environment.

“So what have we got?” he asked, dumping the armor next to her.

“Ten people have left. Two of them came back, plus another three. So there are at least six, since the guy we tailed here hasn’t left.” She paused, and then said, “No, wait, there he is. So at least five.” She rolled to her feet and started pulling on her armor, leaving him to stand watch.

“Heat scan says seven. Still shouldn’t be a problem. Big building.”

“That seems low.”

Delta was running initial odds, compensating for the likelihood of those seven being clustered. Something occurred to York and he tossed in a human perspective to drop those numbers a bit. “It’s Friday.”

“Really?” Carolina paused where she was donning her chestplate. “Huh. You’re right.”

“As usual.”

“Don’t push it.” Her voice was fond and familiar, falling back into the routine of hundreds of missions spent checking in with each other, banter to say _I’m here, I’m not hurt, nothing’s gone so wrong we can’t laugh at it_.

York half expected it to hurt. He wasn’t sad that it didn’t.

“Can’t blame ‘em. No one knows they’re here, it’s Friday night in the big city—”

“Big?”

“Biggish city, and why not be out on a town full of beautiful people?”

“ _York_.” A little bit sharper, but she wasn’t really mad.

“What, a guy can’t appreciate his own looks?” He turned towards her, cocking a hand on one hip. “I’m hurt.”

She laughed, then, right as she wrapped her ponytail around her neck and pulled the helmet on over it, and that did hurt something because he’d seen this a hundred times and he never thought he’d see it again and they were here and she was _alive—_

“You said something about a challenge?” he blurted, spinning back to watch the building because Delta was still crunching data but could spare enough headspace to give York a little shove out of that particular downward spiral.

“You still up for it?”

“Name the terms.”

“First one to get the data gets to give it to Kimball.”

“What about a kiss?”

She responded with “Throwing me over so quickly?” but York didn’t need Delta to catch the way the silence stretched before she answered, throwing off the rhythm of the banter. He filed that thought away for later.

“From you, of course.”

“I’ll think about it,” she told him. “Sync?”

“Sync,” he said, and turned around just in time to see her jump of the building, and it was on.

 

* * *

 

Vanessa had another message alert when she checked her helmet after waking up.

_Data acquired. No alarms raised, no damage done. Heading back now._

The message had been sent three hours ago, which meant York and Carolina should be getting back in another couple of hours.

Vanessa took the opportunity to head down to the range while no one was around, checking out one of the alien rifles to practice on.

They were trying to keep use of the alien weaponry minimal, both because of how little they understood it and because of how much Charon had been willing to do to get their hands on it. The troops had complained bitterly about losing their new toys right until someone almost lost an arm.

Since then, plenty of practice hours had been logged, but no one had tried to hide a rifle under their bed so Vanessa would count it as a win.

She could understand the lure—it took twenty shots before she could feel the rifle’s weight shifting in her hands, matching her sense of balance and moving with her to improve her shots. It was almost addicting how smoothly it responded, and the satisfaction of seeing spike after spike go right where she put it.

By the time other people started to trickle into the range, though, her shoulder was starting to ache and her stomach was tightening with complaints so she put the rifle down, shook out her sore muscles, and headed towards the mess hall.

She took the long way around, checking in on the perimeter on her way, and was there just in time to see a pair of Mongooses come skidding back in at dangerous speeds.

No wonder they were—Vanessa checked—almost a full hour ahead of schedule, if they’d gone that fast.

York and Carolina dismounted almost in unison, body language loose and so tightly matched it made something in Vanessa’s chest ache. Carolina tried to jab York in the ribs, but he swung out of the way, a laugh practically visible in his body language. When he finished evading, he caught sight of Vanessa where she was lurking on the edge of the area and waved, brightly. Carolina took advantage of his distraction to slip in under his guard and get him in the gut.

Vanessa headed over before her two best soldiers could start wrestling like children, and got there in time to hear, “Nope! I got it, fair and square, and—hey! Vanessa!”

He ducked under the reach of Carolina’s arms and leapt forward, dropping into an exaggerated kneeling pose with both hands above his head, cradling a computer drive.

“The data, as requested.”

Vanessa suppressed a laugh and picked up the drive. “I take it the mission was a success?”

“Yup.”

 

* * *

 

York got back to his feet after Vanessa took the drive, and braced himself just in time to feel Carolina drape over his shoulder.

 _I win,_ he messaged her while Vanessa examined the drive. She squeezed her arm just a little too tightly around his neck. Both of them were running on catnaps from earlier and the adrenaline of pulling off a successful mission together, with no alarms, thank you very much, plus the rush of racing back to base.

They probably hadn’t needed to, but it had been fun.

“We took what we could get. It’s all there, everything we found,” Carolina told her.

“It locked down after an hour away from the server, but D got a look before that and he says that not only is there info on everything the pirates are up to, but they were hanging onto some files for the rest of Charon as well. He and Epsilon both tackled the lockdown protocols after that, so they should be mostly cleared out by now but we can come with you and check.”

 

* * *

 

Vanessa was used to not getting her hopes up but they swelled anyway, big and bright and bubbling with _we could actually survive this_. Her mind immediately went in three different directions with plans, plans for other missions and plans for renegotiating with the UNSC and plans—

“York, I could _kiss_ you,” she blurted, and then froze as those implications hit her.

_Oh._

_Shit._

“I better go process this—data,” she added on, staring at the drive instead of either of— _them,_ trying to keep her voice steady because okay, that didn’t have to mean anything and she did have to go anyways and deal with all of this. “The initial readings, I’ll let you know if the protocols are still—thank you both, so much, this could be everything, _thank you_.” Vanessa executed an abrupt about-face and headed back towards her office, desperate for the safety and security of isolation.

 

* * *

 

Carolina could feel herself stiffening as Van—Kimball, Kimball, had to think of her as Kimball—turned and walk away, fixed on the drive in her hands. York’s posture shifted, which meant he noticed, he had to notice, and she made herself relax even though it was hard because she was also jumping up and down on a set of _traitorous thoughts_ that she couldn’t have anymore because—

because she had to think of her as Kimball. Because she had thought, for a while, before everything went to hell and York walked back into her life, that there might be something there in their conversations and Kimball’s smile and warmth and care but no, Kimball was the same with York. It was never anything special.

_< Carolina?>_

_< Not now, Epsilon.>_

But that would be fine, because York had walked back into her life and being—Carolina let herself admit it, now that there was no chance of dealing with it—being _in love_ with two people was fine. It was manageable. She had never stopped loving York, after all, not really.

Expecting both of them to love her back, though, that was just…just greedy. She didn’t deserve that. She barely deserved what she had, and she was going to live with it and be grateful for it.

_< Carolina…>_

_< Not _now _, Epsilon. >_

Epsilon pulled away from her thoughts, giving her some kind of privacy, and she pulled her arm from around York’s neck. “Come on,” she said, trying to keep herself loose and just enjoy being able to lean on him, having him there and warm and alive and shining bright and brilliant. “I’m starving, let’s go eat.”

York followed her lead, like he always did and like she would always never really know how to thank him for. “Think they’ll have that green mash stuff again?”

“It’s breakfast. Which probably means…purple mash.”

“I’m missing the bar already.” He knocked his shoulder against hers, an unspoken reassurance. “So. Do I get that kiss, then?”

Carolina smiled to herself, focusing on that warmth instead of the cold and sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “We’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

Vanessa ended up staring at the data numbly for a good ten minutes, trying to be good and process and read and find something they could use, but she kept finding herself having to reread the same section three times and still not retaining a single word of it.

All that she could think about was York and Carolina in armor, standing next to each other like a matched set and moving together, their body language synced up in a way Kimball had seen before, and come close to in the middle of battle, but never achieved to that degree. York’s grin and bad jokes, the softness of his voice after she found him recording a journal entry, him _trusting_ her to be in charge. Carolina offering up the information, months ago, and waiting outside the medbay, Carolina’s hand pulling her into the Pelican the last time they left Armonia, her voice when she said “ _You’re not replaceable, Vanessa._ ”

The night when York first came, Carolina’s hair spilling bright over her shoulders, York settling in next to her, Carolina’s hand on his wrist and the two of them staring at each other like there was no one else around…

Vanessa took a deep breath, took off her helmet and gloves to rub at her temples, and started at the beginning again, trying to process the information bit by bit.

Her door slammed open with a crash and she was on her feet with her pistol drawn and pointed directly at Tucker’s chest.

“Okay I know now that—whoa!” He held up his hands. “It’s just me!”

Vanessa forced herself to breathe, uncocking the pistol and reholstering it. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”

“Oh, right.”

“What do you want, Tucker?” She tried not to sound aggressive or dismissive, but she also had many other things she needed to deal with and she had not been expecting Tucker to be one of them.

“Oh. Right! Well, uh, I told the rest of the guys what you said about leaving and the thing is, we kind of don’t have anywhere to go, besides Donut because apparently he has family in Iowa. I mean, we were gonna go back to Blood Gulch because we don’t really have anything else to do but face it, that place is a shithole, most of us would be fucking thrilled not to see it again. Sarge kind of wants to, but he’s weird like that, we can talk him out of it. And none of us have a goddamn plan and I mean, we never really thought about it before this, because staying alive, and what else were we going to—”

“Tucker.” Vanessa cut him off. “The point?”

“Right, the point. Uh. The point is that—we wanna stay. If that’s okay.”

Vanessa blinked several times. “You want to stay.”

“On Chorus. If that’s—I mean. I know you said it would be okay if we wanted to. And I mean, there’s probably something that has to be worked out with the UNSC so we can just leave, but yeah.” He drew himself up straighter. “We wanna stay.”

“That’s…” Vanessa let herself smile, small and quiet. “That’s good to hear. We’re more than happy to have you stay.”

“It’s weird, you know? We haven’t really had a home in like, ages, and I mean we still don’t here because this is a base, but it just….feels like we could make a home here, and it was the first place that did. Not just the planet, but all the people here too, and—”

“Tucker,” she cut him off again. “Not that—it’s good to hear that, and I can tell that you’ve put a lot of thought into this, but I’m a little busy right now.”

“You’re always busy,” he pointed out.

“I’m _very_ busy right now.”

Tucker must have caught something in her tone or her face, because he actually looked at what she was looking at. “Oh hey, is that the data Carolina just brought back?”

“Carolina and York.” Vanessa had a sudden flash of the ridiculous way York had offered it up to her, of Carolina draping herself into his space, and was horrified to find a furious blush climbing up her cheeks. She spun the screen back around and stared fixedly at the data. Numbers. Pirates. Potential attacks. Had to focus on the important things, here. “Do you need anything else right now, Tucker?” She should never have taken her helmet off.

“Uh…no?”

“Great, that’s—great.” She glanced up at him. His head was tipped to the side, like he was considering something. “I should—get back to this now, so…”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s—I’ll go.”

He closed the door behind him as he went and Vanessa made herself go back to looking at the data.

When she heard him shout “ _Oh my GOD!”_ a few seconds later, the last of her concentration went out the window and she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

Whatever it was, Irene could deal with it. Vanessa needed to get herself under control, because this was unacceptable.

York and Carolina were two of her best soldiers. They were incredible people with enormous talent and prodigious skills, and they were on her side, and they were _together_.  
She couldn’t ruin that for them. She _wouldn’t._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this is part of the Red vs. Blue Big Bang, you can find the art for this fic (and SO MUCH OTHER GOOD STUFF) at [ adobewanphotobi.tumblr.com](adobewanphotobi.tumblr.com). 
> 
> THANK YOU TO ADDLETON FOR HEROIC EFFORTS IN BETAING ALL 13000 WORDS OF THIS THING LIKE A CHAMP. AND THANK YOU TO STEPH FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY PLOT-WRANGLING RAMBLES AND RANDOM SNIPPETS VIA SKYPE.
> 
> Quick note on the poetry excerpts: yes, the one at the beginning is the same one that was on Chapter 1 originally. The stanza on 1 now is the first stanza. I switched it up so I could follow the order of the poem because I am Extra and hey, it fit. The poem is Verse 13 of Conrad Aiken's [Preludes for Memnon.](http://preludesformemnon.blogspot.com/)
> 
> AND WE FINALLY GET TO START HITTING THE PAYOFF OF FEELINGS, WHICH, THANK GOD, BECAUSE SLOWBURN IS GODDAMN EXHAUSTING. CAN THESE NERDS JUST KISS EACH OTHER ALREADY. 
> 
> well no no they can't because realization does not equal action. because they're NERDS. 
> 
> The thing with Tucker and the Reds and Blues in the background: I really wanted to explore the other side of a story that we'd usually see from the perspective of the sim troopers. I thought it would be fun. And it was!
> 
> I wrote about 1000 words a day to finish this chapter on time, which is proof that it can be done, so! Next update should be on April 9. I'm planning on one last long chapter and then an epilogue, but who knows how it'll really shake out. 
> 
> Oh hey, RvB15 premieres in a week! WHO'S READY TO GET JOSSED WITH ME
> 
> Come yell with me about these nerds either in the comment box below or on [ Tumblr.](sroloc--elbisivni.tumblr.com)


	4. a world of portents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Or runs your blood as slow as mine? or comes_   
>  _The golden crocus, of this April’s fiction,_   
>  _As hotly to your thought as mine? The birds_   
>  _That throng imagination’s boughs, and sing,_   
>  _Or flash from sward to leaf, for the sheer joy_   
>  _Of mounting or descending in thought’s air;_   
>  _Or mate in ecstasy, and from the flame_   
>  _Breed constellations of flame-colored flight:_   
>  _Come they and go they, love, in your green tree_   
>  _As swiftly as in mine? was there such singing_   
>  _In mine as yours, or at the self-same season?_   
>  _Have I such boughs as you, in the same place;_   
>  _Or such a fountain of bright flame, when birds_   
>  _All skyward mount together?-_

“I won.”

York looked up from his seat on the bench to see Mohammed standing there, arms crossed.

“Won—” Delta dragged up the relevant memory for him. “Oh, right. Congratulations.”

“Won what?” Carolina asked, distracted from Wash and Grif’s glaring match over the sugar bowl.

“Just something I challenged a few of the ducklings to. Be right back.” York gave her knee a squeeze goodbye before standing up with a groan. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

He led Mohammed over to the side of the cafeteria, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “My favorite color is navy blue.”

Mohammed stared at him.

York shrugged. “I never said I’d have a good secret to tell.”

“You,” Mohammed said, carefully, after a moment’s consideration, “Are a _douche_.”

“Oooh. That’s a new one.” York thought about it. “Yeah, I am. How did it go?”

“I’m pretty sure I only won because none of them know anything about me. I’m bad at lying. I just said everything the same…way…” He trailed off in a way that meant a dawning realization.

“Yeah, that’s the extent of it.” York clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice work. Let’s see if you’ll be here next week.”

“It’s still on?”

“Mmm…yeah. Have fun. I’m going to go finish my breakfast.”

 

* * *

 

Apparently Grif had refrained from spreading the word on the demilitarization, because Vanessa didn’t find a furious message from Gowda in her inbox before their meeting was scheduled to start. She hadn’t managed to finish processing the information York and Carolina had brought, but this meeting wasn’t about that anyways.

Vanessa and Gowda had managed to cordially and professionally organize the details of demilitarization without ever having to meet face to face, but at this point they very much needed to. But because shouting matches would be not only unproductive but also demoralizing, Grey had agreed to come along and act as neutral arbiter. Vanessa was supposed to meet her on the way over to the conference room.

Grey was in the agreed-upon location, but something about her body language made Vanessa pause.

“Oh, Kimball! There you are.”

“Hello, Grey. Are you ready?”

“Well, you see, there may have been a _teensy_ little fire in the medical bay—”

“A _what?_ ”

“It’s fine! It’s fine, everything is fine, it’s _all_ under control now, but I do need to go back to the infirmary to deal with things.”

“Can’t they wait? Grey, we _need_ this meeting to go well.”

“I know! I know, and I know that you and Sally are still having…issues, which is why I’ve found someone else to take my place.”

Vanessa stared at her, hard. “Who, exactly?”

“Alright! Who’s ready to talk about our feelings? _So I can use the information to find all your weaknesses, muahahaha.”_

Vanessa looked at Doc, and then immediately spun back around to stare down Grey. “No.”

“It’ll be _fine_. Have fun!”

Grey trotted away and Vanessa turned back to Doc, looking him up and down.

“So, how are you—”

“If you bring back that _fucking_ speaking ball, I will shoot you in the leg.”

He paused for a moment. “Noted!”

 

* * *

 

Gowda was already in the conference room when Vanessa arrived, datapads and paper files spread across the table.

“Grey couldn’t—” Vanessa began.

“I know. She told me.” Gowda pushed a datapad over to the other side of the table. “Let’s just try to get this done, please.”

Vanessa swallowed down an irritable retort, reminded herself that this needed to go well, and sat down with Gowda to finish hashing out the last details of distribution.

To Doc’s credit, he made a decent third party, staying quiet for the most part and only intervening when it threatened to descend too far into sniping. Of course, he was horrible at defusing situations, but at least they ended up turning to snap at him instead of continuing to berate each other, which prevented things from deteriorating too far.

At last, the final outlines were looking a little less rough, and they had managed to organize a system for funneling the troops that would allow them to officially dissolve both armies in six months.

“Okay.” Vanessa exhaled, pulling the datapad closer. “Now. In terms of leadership, the first appointments need to be decided before we do this. I have a few candidates in mind for the Defense Unit, but nothing solid, so I would appreciate hearing your thoughts.”

“Are you planning to pursue a leadership role yourself?”

“I was intending to run in the elections for the new Parliament, actually.” Vanessa regarded Gowda levelly. “I’m afraid I assumed you would have an interest in being involved with the Unit. It’s going to need quite a bit of management.”

Gowda pursed her lips. “I actually wanted to raise something with you. The Defense Unit alone is responsible for a significant chunk of personnel management. I’m not opposed to the Force itself—god knows we need it—but it seems like it might be to our advantage to scrap the Unit.”

Vanessa was taken aback. “We can’t do that.”

“Why not? Look—” Gowda reached for a pad and pulled up a holographic display of numbers. “Eliminate the Unit, and we cut down a significant amount of manpower and bureaucracy. And I know how little you like bureaucracy.”

Vanessa scanned the numbers, and all the claims Gowda were making were true, but she shoved it aside anyways. “The conditions of independence call for us to maintain a fighting force capable of defending at least 75% of the populated area of the planet. We’d never be able to muster a militia that big without losing control of it and risking another civil war.”

“I’m _aware_ of that, Kimball.”

“Then what exactly is it you’re suggesting?” Vanessa’s tone went very sharp.

“That Chorus cede our independent status and reestablish ourselves as a colony under the UNSC’s jurisdiction. We’d gain oversight, support, trade advantages—”

Vanessa shoved herself back from the table, hands shaking. “No.”

“You won’t even hear—”

“Because that is _not an option._ No.” Vanessa struggled to get her breathing under control. “I—was this Doyle’s suggestion? Did he—”

“As a matter of fact, he was against it,” Gowda said, voice very flat. “I was hoping you’d be more _reasonable_ —”

“Reasonable? I—you’re accusing _me_ of being unreasonable?” Her voice rose in pitch.

“Okay,” Doc said, tone conciliatory. “Why don’t we all just take a couple of deep breaths—”

“Shut up,” Vanessa snapped. “How _dare_ you. How—do you understand what that would mean?”

“It would mean our planet wouldn’t be at risk of dropping completely off the radar of the galaxy at large because of a corporation’s whims. It would mean that we wouldn’t see a repeat of this goddamn war!” Gowda’s voice climbed in pitch as well, and Vanessa rose to her feet, ready for a shouting match—

And then she saw the hint of fear in Gowda’s eyes, the way her hand flinched for a pistol like Palomo’s would when she used to yell at him—

Vanessa stopped, all the steam blown out of her, and sat back down, hard, because she kept forgetting how much this war aged people.

She placed her hands on the table and focused on them, forcing herself to breathe. “Gowda. How old were you when the final Accords were signed?”

The topic change caught the other woman off-guard, and her voice was confused when she asked “The—independence accords? The February 8th ones?”

“Yes.”

“I was born a few months after that.”

“Accords?” Doc asked while Vanessa gave herself a solid mental slap.

“February 8th was the day Chorus became an independent colony. Sovereignty Day. It used to be a global holiday.”

“February 8th was the day the last papers were signed to officially make Chorus an independent colony,” Vanessa corrected. “It took _fourteen years_ to accomplish. Not including gathering support and laying out plans—from the day the complete official proposal was first presented to the UEG until they finally signed over control, it took more than fourteen years. It was another three before the UNSC troops would leave, and Chorus became independent in more than name.”

“That’s a…long time,” Doc pointed out.

“It was before the war. Colonies were kept under tighter control. The government was scared shitless of Insurrectionist activity.” Vanessa didn’t bother controlling her bitterness. “But they were more than happy to take our resources, our taxes…our people.”

“You’re kidding me. This is about the draft, isn’t it.” Gowda’s tone was so unimpressed that Vanessa had to suppress the urge to scream at her. Shouting would get them nowhere.

“Yes. It is.”

“The….draft?” Doc’s voice was very uncertain. “I thought you said this was before—”

“It wasn’t…an actual draft,” Vanessa interrupted. She had to search for the right words to explain—the draft was something you learned about from eavesdropping on adult conversations during tax season, from watching your family walk away, from seeing crowds of people outside the train stations hugging goodbye. It wasn’t something _explained._ “It—where are you from, Doc?”

“Falaknuma. It’s in the Scorpii System, near—”

“Inner colony, then. The UEG—it taxes the Outer Colonies pretty heavily. Most don’t have the capacity to produce anything like vaccinations, or complex weapons, or terraforming materials, so they—we’re—dependent on the Inner Colonies for most things. Except those only go to the good, tax-paying planets.

“The thing is, though, that the UNSC instituted a program before the war where if a planet provided a certain number of enlisted troops, it got a tax break. Chorus was pretty heavily dependent on that. So every year, around tax-time, for the people who just couldn’t pay—and there were _always_ people who just couldn’t pay—well. A lot of kids with not a lot of options signed up and shipped out. “ Vanessa clenched her fists and breathed deeply before adding “Like my sister.”

Doc and Gowda both stared at her.

“She left when I was seven. She died in an Insurrectionist uprising seven months later. A week before the Accords were signed.” It was an old ache. It had no right to hurt as much as it did. “There are places on this planet that are still almost totally dead from the strip-clearing and mining that used to pay for vaccines and supplies, even though Chorus is lucky enough to have the resources that we could have produced them _ourselves,_ if they had just—” She shook her head. “The point is, going back to that is _not an acceptable option_.” Vanessa shoved her chair back from the table. “There’s a reason Doyle and I didn’t disagree on this. Talk to Dr. Grey if you don’t believe me. Talk to Hollis, to Doc Vidal, to—to anyone old enough to remember. I’ll run the Defense Unit by myself, if that’s what it takes. Chorus stays independent. Enough lives have been lost over nothing. I’m not going to stand by and let you make even more of those sacrifices worthless.” She grabbed her helmet and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

York went to the ducklings’ room first, because a couch had appeared in there before he left with Carolina and he was well aware that they were starting to make a base of it. He should be able to catch some of them there.

But when he checked the door for booby traps and entered, it was empty.

Hmm. That wasn’t good.

 _< There is a listening device in the corner._> After a moment, Delta added _< It seems crudely made._>

York left it alone, heading out to search the rest of the compound first.

No ducklings in the hallways. No ducklings in the motor pool. No ducklings in the mess hall.

Uh oh.

York stopped to get a cup of coffee for bribery purposes and headed for Kimball’s office.

“She’s not here,” Irene told him.

“Kinda figured. I actually wanted to see you.” He set down the coffee cup on the edge of the desk. “I might have told the ducklings you were in charge.”

“So that’s why it’s been quiet around here lately.”

Delta reached out to her computer so York could send _any idea why they’re hiding from me?_

She typed back _afraid not._

“Thanks anyways,” he said, and left.

York went back to the room, and this time made a beeline for the bug. He plucked it off the wall to examine it. _< Wilkinson or Starks, do you think?>_

Delta ran the odds and suggested that while Starks had built the device, Wilkinson had either coded it or hacked it. He also set to work breaking into the frequency.

 _< Good point._>

“Starks, Wilkinson, you both have ten minutes to meet me here.” As soon as he was done, Delta shut down the circuitry and supplied the feed to York’s helmet.

 _“How the_ fuck _did he—”_

_“I don’t know!”_

_“Well, we don’t have to show up, do we?”_

_“I mean…it’s your funeral. I’m going.”_

York leaned against the wall and waited, holding a silent conversation with Delta on the odds of a hypothetical game of poker and listening to the gossip network. It seemed Starks had managed to plant her listening devices all around the base. Definitely sneaky.

Well, it was good to know his plan had worked after all. It wasn’t good to know that they were all using their newfound sneakiness to avoid him, but it was good it had worked.

Wilkinson and Starks got to the door at nine minutes, and then waited another forty-five seconds to enter.

“Thank you for your prompt attentions,” York said with as much irony as he could muster. He tossed the listening device at Starks, who yanked it out of the air. “Not busted, just temporarily deactivated. Points for creativity, but you might want to make the design less noticeable.”

“Do you actually want anything?” Starks snapped, cradling her device protectively.

“I want to know why all of you are avoiding me like it’s going out of style.”

“Well, why don’t you ask your teachers’ pets then,” Wilkinson muttered.

“My—” York straightened for a moment in surprise before the pieces clicked together. “Ah.” He leaned back. “So you all found out then.”

“That you were playing all of us? Yeah. We found out.” Wilkinson crossed her arms.

York sighed and tried to run his fingers through his hair before he remembered he was in armor. “Alright.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Starks demanded. “Alright?”

“As a matter of fact, it is not. But since I don’t want to say it more than once, it’s all I have to say until the rest of you who are mad at me show up.” He paused, weighed pros and cons, and then admitted, “And you’ll have to help with that because I have no idea where they are.”

“And we’re supposed to help you?” Starks shoved the listening device into her pocket.

“If you want answers…yeah.”

The two of them exchanged an extremely eloquent look. But it seemed like they did want answers, because they left, heading in opposite directions.

Within fifteen minutes, there were ten ducklings in the room, all of them refusing to look at York.

“Should I just assume the rest aren’t going to show up?”

None of them answered him.

“I’ll take that to mean none of you are speaking to them.”

Still no answer.

York sighed, and reached up to take off his helmet. “I can’t tell you what you want to know if I don’t know what you want to know.”

“You told them to lie to us,” Valdez said, finally. He was back in armor, slouched low and angry against the wall. “Why.”

“Because you all needed to learn subtlety and they needed—they didn’t need any more help.” York corrected himself before he could say _they needed a challenge_ because Delta told him his odds of achieving any kind of reconciliation after saying that were not good.

“So you decided to play divide and conquer instead of just, I don’t know, fucking _telling us_ to be sneakier?” Thakkar practically exploded. “You turned our friends against us as—what, some sick joke?” Their arms were crossed viciously tight.

York didn’t know how to respond to that.

“You really think we needed to learn about betrayal?” Sampson said, very soft.

Delta summoned a memory of a hallway conversation and Sampson saying, all too casually _“I was with the New Republic.”_

_< I fucked up, didn’t I.>_

_< It would seem that you did.>_

“No,” York said, finally. “I didn’t think you needed to learn that.”

“Why them?” Russo was the one to ask. York had been expecting her to be the angriest, but instead she was just very quiet, hair loose from her usual bun and almost covering her face. “Did you have a reason, or did you just think that any four of us were as good as the rest?”

“They were bringing me the most information.” York cricked his neck. “You know I’ve been getting you all to specialize.”

“You have?” Mohamed asked.

York ticked off points on his fingers. “Grifting. Hacking. Infiltration. Stealth. Engineering.” He could see it dawning on some of them. “I wanted the, ah, absent four to specialize in processing information. The way they acted on that let me figure out how the rest of you reacted to things going wrong. Some things I did want you all to have a handle on—basic lockpicking, collecting information—but no one person can do everything.”

“Except you?” Thakkar jabbed.

“No, me included. I’m terrible at lying.”

They all stared at him for that, and he could see the ones who’d spent the week playing two truths and a lie—the ones he’d tapped as grifters from the start—trying to figure out whether he was lying or not.

Good luck to them. He wasn’t, but by now they were paranoid.

“I screwed up.”

The staring increased in intensity.

“If Bowers, or Kulkarni, or Sastry, or Alcala were here, they could tell you I gave them a pretty good speech about deception. I told them it was their job—all of your jobs—now. I stand by that. You’re not going to be able to tell people the whole truth. You’re going to have to assume people are lying to you. But each other—your teammates? You need to be able to trust them. And I didn’t think about that. What I did wasn’t fair to you. I screwed up.”

He let out an enormous sigh, suddenly exhausted. “I’m going to tell the others and call them off. Those challenges I’ve been giving some of you are off too. I’ll have something new for you tomorrow. Something different.”

“What if we still want to do the challenges you gave us?” Campos asked, suddenly. “Are you still gonna honor those?”

York looked from Campos, to a Mohamed who was looking anywhere else, back to Campos. “If you want. Sure.” He put his helmet back on and left them behind.

 

* * *

 

Vanessa wound up seething by the radioactive lake. She would have gone to use the alien guns some more, but there would be people there by now and she just needed to be _alone_.

She tossed rocks in for a while, trying to expel her frustration with every stone that hit the water, but after the third time scraping radioactive algae off her armor she gave up and just sat, breathing deeply and trying to consider making good on her threat of taking over the Defense Force.

She had meant it. She wouldn’t allow Chorus to be colonized again. Troops weren’t—okay, technically they could remain independent and still station UNSC troops, but that would be the beginning of the end. They needed this Defense Force.

Vanessa was tired of fighting, tired of being a soldier and a weapon and carrying a gun, but if that was the only way to keep the UNSC from taking over, or to keep Gowda from giving them up without realizing what it would mean—she would do it.

She wouldn’t _like_ it, but she would do it. She’d done more, and worse, for her people.

“Oh, hey Kimball! I’ve been looking for you.”

Vanessa closed her eyes, silently begged for patience, and stood up. “Tucker. Can I help you with something?” She realized her mistake as soon as the phrase was out of her mouth and added “And if your answer includes the words “bow,” “chicka,” or “wow,” I will throw you in the lake.”

Tucker laughed nervously and backed up a step. “Nah, actually, I wanted to help you with something.”

“Alright,” Vanessa said, cautiously. “What is it?”

“So, I know you like Carolina—not to sound like my kid or anything but like-her, like her—and you’ve liked her for a while, and I’m pretty sure you like York? And I mean, not to brag or anything—”

The only reason it took Vanessa so long to cut him off was because her brain almost entirely shut down. It came back online somewhere around “brag” just in time to register that her face was flaming in a furious, embarrassed blush under her helmet.

“ _Don’t_. Tucker—stop. Right there.” Her hands were actually shaking. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t—”

“It’s _not_. Don’t _say_ things like that.” Something in the pit of her stomach was burning cold. “I don’t even want to imagine if—if Carolina or York had heard that. How offended they would be. Don’t say things like that.”

“Whoa, Kimball, seriously, I—”

“ _I will throw you in the lake_. Tucker. Get out.”

He hesitated, but when she took a menacing step towards him he retreated.

Vanessa spun around, snatched up a rock, and hurled it hard enough that it exploded into shards against the back wall. Then she covered her visor with her hands and screamed.

 

* * *

 

Carolina found herself once again wandering around the base. Epsilon had decided he was bored and logged off a while ago, which meant she was even more bored on her own. Carolina hated being bored.

The training room was very full and very noisy, so Carolina decided to come back later and went looking for something else to do.

She stumbled over Doc and Donut in the corner of a hallway, talking quietly, and Doc perked up when he saw her.

“Oh, Carolina! Has Kimball ever talked to you about how the war started?”

Carolina thought back. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Well, Dr. Grey asked me to monitor this meeting that the generals were having? And things got…kinda messy.”

Doc had a gift for understatement, but also a fairly straightforward storytelling style. Carolina managed to follow his explanation without any mental gymnastics whatsoever.

“…and then she just left, and Gowda said she was exaggerating and then _she_ left, but I saw her hanging around the infirmary so I think she’s going to try to talk to Grey.”

“But you don’t know where Kimball went?” Carolina asked, sharply.

“No, sorry.”

“We’re trying to figure out how much of it was really true and how much might have been up the ass.”

Carolina stared at Donut for a long minute before Doc asked, “Out of the ass?”

“What did I say? Not _Kimball’s_ ass,” he clarified for Carolina. “But, well—you know how easily these things get passed around. Especially in the army.”

Carolina closed her eyes for a moment, trying to clear out those mental images. “Do you have any idea?”

“Well, people don’t really like talking about the beginning of the war, especially since the armies got together. But I remember that it took me forever to make friends with this one squad of soldiers who had been a part of the Federal Army since forever. They really didn’t like that we were part of the UNSC. Let me tell you, I went through _so much_ Merlot before they’d open up to me.”

“She’s not wrong about the colonial processes, either.” Carolina had once spent a lot of time studying the history of Insurrectionist military campaigns, and colonial history by extension. After reading up on some of the convoluted trials, paperwork, and hearings that it took for a colony to achieve legitimate independence, she almost couldn’t blame the Insurrectionists for taking such a violent approach to their autonomy.

“Well, we just don’t _know_ , do we?” Donut tapped at the chin of his helmet thoughtfully. “I wonder if—” His helmet chimed, and he stopped. “Hold that thought.

“Oh, _hey_ Tucker! How did it—oh. Uh huh. Uh huh. Oh _dear_.”

Carolina and Doc were left trading awkward glances as Donut let out a loud tutting noise. “Well, I’ll be right there. It sounds like we need a new plan. See you.”

He hung up and sighed, reaching out to squeeze Doc’s hand. “I gotta go, babe.”

“That’s okay. You go do your thing. Carolina and I will just have to work this out without you.”

“Actually, I...” Carolina tried to quickly come up with a reason she wouldn’t be able to stay and figure something out with Doc.

“Ohhhhh, you know what you could do? Carolina could go talk to Kimball! Try and get some answers.”

“Really?” Carolina said, surprised. “I mean—really. I could.”

“Of course you could! Kimball respects you so much, I’m sure she’ll tell you the truth.” While Carolina was processing that, Donut added, “Tucker says she’s down by the radioactive lake. You two crazy kids have fun!” He squeezed Doc’s hand one last time and took off.

“So…”

“I have to go.”

 

* * *

 

“Kimball?”

“Tucker, I _told—_ oh. Carolina. Hello.”

“Are you—okay?”

“Fine, just—fine.”

“…”

“…”

“Do you mind if I—”

“No, no—go ahead.”

“…So.”

“So.”

“Doc told me about the meeting.”

“…”

“…Kimball?”

“Did you know that for a long time, I hated the New Republic?”

“…What?”

“Before it was an actual war—when it was just a splinter group out in the jungles, just protestors who turned to anarchy when the government wouldn’t listen—I hated them. I must have been—fifteen? Sixteen?

“Either way, I was young enough that when the government condemned the New Republic for causing chaos and risking the UNSC clamping down, or the United Earth Government deciding we couldn’t function as an independent planet, I believed them. So I hated the New Republic.”

“When did you change your mind?”

“The day I finally woke up and looked around and realized that independence meant nothing if the government was hellbent on destroying the planet and treating our citizens like children anyways.”

“…”

“I just spent the better part of my life fighting a war to change things. I won’t let Gowda drag us even further back. I _can’t_.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m with you. For whatever you need to make that happen.”

“…Thank you, Carolina.”

“…”

“…”

“So what did Tucker do, anyways?”

“…it’s nothing. Really.”

 

* * *

 

Tracking down the rest of the ducklings took the better part of his day. Alcala was with a large group of people, determinedly and cheerfully avoiding him, but when he managed to tell her the deception was off she almost cried. Sastry and Kulkarni were sitting together in a corner of the base, talking quietly. And it turned out that Bowers had been stalking him since he got back and just didn’t reveal herself until he loudly announced that he was giving up.

York forwent dinner in favor of going back to his and Carolina’s room and collapsing on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Are you doing okay?” she asked when she came back.

“Who put me in charge of children, Carolina? This was a terrible idea.”

Delta helpfully pointed out that it was entirely his own fault he was in this situation.

_< Shut up.>_

“What happened?”

“I’ve been splitting them up on different assignments so they could practice different things aaaand may have set them up to work against each other to get them to be subtle without actually _telling_ them what I was doing. So they got mad at each other and then mad at me and it’s all a mess, honestly.”

“York vastly underestimated the appropriateness of the tactic “divide and conquer” in this scenario,” Delta clarified.

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“So you need to give them a common enemy to get them working together again?” Carolina suggested.

“I need to give them a common enemy and make them feel like they _can_ work—” York sat bolt upright as an idea finally occurred to him. “Carolina, you’re a genius.”

“Thanks, York.” She paused. “Wait, what are you going to—”

“No time, have to find paintballs.” He dropped a kiss on her helmet as he ran out the door and then had the sudden urge to toothbrush his tongue.

“ _What?_ ” Her voice carried from down the hall and York laughed to himself all the way to the armory.

 

* * *

 

York was in the training room bright and early the next morning, bouncing just a little on the balls of his feet.

This time, though, he was most _definitely_ excited.

York had not only managed to find enough paintball guns and ammunition, but a cloth to cover them all and indulge his sense of the dramatic. The ducklings entering one by one all stopped and stared at it, extremely dubious. Their doubt warmed the cockles of his cold little heart.

“Today,” he announced, with a deep sense of satisfaction, “We’re doing something different.”

He yanked the cloth off with a flourish, revealing the paintball guns. There was staring.

“This is a training scenario. You will have half an hour to prepare, and then we start. Anyone here ever done bodyguarding?”

All he got were blank looks. Right. Troublemakers.

“Okay, so in bodyguarding, the person you’re guarding is known as your principal. In intelligence, sometimes you have to guard multiple principals without being able to make them _aware_ that you’re guarding them. Because diplomatic incidents are a thing. That’s what all of you are doing today. Lucky for you, you’re only protecting one principal today. Even more luckily, you’re only protecting them from one threat.”

“Who are we protecting?” Thakkar asked, staring at the paint weapons.

“Kimball.”

“Who are we protecting her _from_?” Sastry asked pointedly.

“Me.”

There were many groans. York was pleased.

“Rules?” Ashraf rubbed her hands together.

“An hour of prep time. Your principal cannot know she’s being defended. Only the paintballs count as hits, nothing else—that means no paint bombs, Starks, so leave the gunpowder here.”

Starks let out a put-upon sigh but dutifully dropped a package on the floor.

“I’m telling you right now that it’ll take four hits to take me out, and that’s me being generous. If I get within five feet of my target by the end of the day, you lose. If I take out all of you, you lose. That’s about it.”

“You haven’t made any preparations of your own? Like, to make it impossible for you to lose?” Valdez cracked his knuckles absently.

“I have not, but I will be using the hour for some prep time of my own.”

“Will we be doing this more than once?”

“We’ll see how it goes. And your time starts…now.”

Delta helpfully activated a countdown clock, syncing it to York’s helmet.

“Have fun, try not to set anything on fire, but that’s more of a suggestion than a hard-and-fast rule this time around. Good luck.” York took the tarp and whistled on his way out the door.

_< This is going to be fun.>_

Delta hummed, calculating the odds. _< Even with the resources already at their disposal, the odds of them beating both of us remain slim.>_

_< Run it with all of them.>_

_< Hmm.>_ It was a thoughtful silence. _< 84.5%.>_

_< See? I believe in them.> _

_< I will note that is the _only _scenario with odds in their favor. >_

_< I also believe it’ll take them a couple tries to figure that out. Now let’s go break some bugs.>_

 

* * *

 

Vanessa’s day had been wonderfully peaceful.

She and Gowda were locked in the kind of stalemate that meant they weren’t speaking to each other again and were instead passive-aggressively forwarding plans to each other with punctuation details changed.

When she wasn’t busy swapping every single semicolon in the documents for an em-dash, Vanessa went over food and resettlement plans.

It had taken some reworking, but it gave her a deep sense of personal, vicious satisfaction to look at the numbers scrolling across her screen and know that they could deal with the UNSC’s no-fly zone for a long while. They might all get sick of bean paste and vitamin supplements, but Chorus wouldn’t have to go crawling on its knees to beg for supplies.

She had been able to spend her day working entirely uninterrupted, for a change. It was so productive that during lunch, she was able to take her sandwiches and go down to the range to practice with the alien spike rifle for a while.

At one point, Vanessa thought she might have seen York in the hallway, but then there had been a minor explosion and she had to go deal with that.

The culprit had been a very apologetic Private Starks, who swore that it had been an accident and offered to spend the rest of her day cleaning up while “you go write me a demerit or something.”

(“…do you _want_ a demerit?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Or do you just want me to go away so you can deal with this on your own?”

“That one.”)

Vanessa had bitten back a laugh and gone back to her office anyways. She hadn’t written a demerit, but she had made a note to get York to release Starks for an afternoon so the private could rework the armory’s setup.

She read over the final meal rationing setup one last time before stamping her approval and looking for the next thing in her inbox.

For once, there was nothing left marked “urgent,” which was…a _very_ pleasant surprise. She might be able to take up a nonessential project this afternoon—checking in on training progress, or having a real conversation with the lieutenants, or maybe even outlining a series of lectures on Chorus history with an emphasis on peaceful discussion. They’d come far enough that the troops could… _probably_ handle a serious and rational discussion on recent history without letting personal feelings cloud things too much. Probably. Maybe.

Well, she could outline it, anyways.

There were muffled thuds from the outside, and she glanced up, trying to figure out if it was something that required her attention or just Irene trying something new.

Before she could reach for her helmet and actually open a channel, the door burst open and York fell through, laughing wildly and covered in paint.

He was in civilian clothing, with just a visor to cover his eyes, and he was a riot of color. Purple and pink in his hair, orange and green and violet across his shirt and on his face, and even more than she could name splattered all the way down his pants and across the line of his throat right up to where his mouth was open wide in a rolling, open, laugh.

Vanessa was staring. Staring was bad. Right? She should stop. Sometime soon.

In a few more seconds.

“Alright! Alright, I yield, you win!”

There were cheers from outside, and while Vanessa was trying to scrape together enough brain cells to form a coherent sentence, York tugged his shirt off over his head and started using it to wipe off his face.

He had nice back muscles. And arm muscles. And—

Vanessa gave herself a very hard pinch and forced her vocal cords to work again.

“York, what the _hell_ is going on?”

He pulled the shirt away from his—still very colorful—face, a sheepish grin starting to work his way up. “Uh…well…”

Before he could go any further, there was a loud, inarticulate shriek of rage from outside the door. Irene must have gone to get coffee.

“ _Run away!”_ someone yelped. York’s glance darted towards the door.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Vanessa snapped. “ _Stay.”_

York froze in place as she stood up, walked to the door, and closed it firmly. The small glance she caught of paintball residue scattered everywhere made her bite the inside of her cheek and work to compose herself until she was back safely behind her desk and could pull her helmet back on. York still hadn’t moved a muscle, grinning _very_ sheepishly.

Looks like her day had been deceptively quiet instead of wonderfully so.

“What, _exactly_ , is going on here?”

“Training exercise.”

Vanessa stared. In a judgmental manner.

“I mentioned I was planning to move on to those eventually?” He scrubbed at his ear with the shirt, somewhat awkwardly. “Eventually is today. It was a practice target protection scenario. They were the team guarding the target and I was trying to infiltrate.”

“And…who was the target?”

“Um.” He wiped futilely at his hair, and she made herself keep her eyes above his neck and not on his shifting abdominal muscles. “It might have been you.”

“I see.”

“And I mean. Part of the scenario involved you not knowing. Which, uh, in hindsight, was probably….yeah.” He trailed off in an embarrassed silence.

Vanessa decided not to ask why. She took a very deep breath inside the safety of her helmet. “From now on? I want a _comprehensive report_ of each training exercise you do. Filed at least a day in advance. And you’re responsible for whatever cleanup needs to be done afterwards.”

“Yessir, Vanessa sir.”

She couldn’t understand why she felt like smiling. She forced it into a frown, instead, even though he couldn’t see her face. “You can go now.”

He gave a little salute and pulled off his visor. He was still covered in paint. And still shirtless.

“And for god’s sake, put your shirt back on,” she added, just as he opened the door.

He paused, then tied the sleeves around his neck and gave a little twirl as he walked out, making it flutter like a cape.

One laugh burst out of her chest before she clamped down her teeth around it. Outside her door, Irene looked up, eyebrows raised. York gave one more twirl and a cheeky little wave before ducking out into the hallway.

Vanessa stood behind her desk and stared for a while until she realized Irene was still watching her.

“What?” she said, maybe a little too defensively.

“Oh, nothing,” Irene said lightly. She turned back to her desk, which was, remarkably, clean. “Nothing.”

Vanessa shut the door and went back to her desk.

Scratch deceptively. Her day had been _suspiciously_ quiet.

 

* * *

 

York took the day after the training scenario to have discussions—with a couple of individuals, with the tapped groups, and finally with all of the ducklings in a very exciting group discussion. They ended up insulting him a lot.

Starks, in particular, was not happy about having to replace all the bugs York had broken during his prep time. She was slightly mollified when Delta offered to assist Ashraf with an upgrade to the code so her devices could process more information.

The next day, he set up another training exercise, letting them all run around the base trying to find and disable ‘bombs.’ Kimball, after reading his report, had called him in and made him swear up and down that he would warn anyone who need warning and wouldn’t start a panic on the base. York would like to think he’d succeeded.

Look, the incident with Caboose’s lieutenant _didn’t count,_ Delta.

He still made sure to take them off-base for the next one, actually going back to his original idea and rerigging the traps around the storage facility he had made his own run on. With all of them working together, it took four hours to break all the way in. More than a few of the traps got set off, but it was fine. York hadn’t reactivated any of the lethal ones.

They debriefed on the ride home, and because they were all exhausted and miserable and cranky, he gave them a day off.

His planning would probably take a full day, anyways.

 

* * *

 

“Let me get this straight,” Tucker said, when York first approached him. “You want me to be a hostage.”

“A _fake_ hostage,” York clarified, because that was the important part here. “You wouldn’t actually be held for ransom. I think.” He could… _probably_ distract the ducklings enough to get Tucker back afterwards. Vanessa had Delta for the day, to crunch numbers, but York liked to think he was pretty good at probability himself by now.

“You think?” Tucker sounded more curious than scared. A good sign.

“Well, is anything ever _really_ certain? Point is, you’d basically get a day off to hang around the base.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Blackmail material on your boyfriend.”

“Sold.”

 

* * *

 

In hindsight, considering York had actively been thinking about Wash when making his plans, it was even dumber that he’d forgotten to, well. Let Wash know that he’d be pretending to kidnap his boyfriend. _Pretending_ being the important part there.

The way he had come crashing across the corner of the base they’d been using, pistols and explosives at the ready, had been impressive as hell. The ducklings had been sufficiently intimidated. And they hadn’t even forgotten to take the hostage with them when they ran! Which. Didn’t help matters.

In hindsight, it was a _very_ good thing that row of rooms had been empty when the roof came down.

“From now on,” Vanessa said from behind her hands at his post-scenario grovel session, “you’re not allowed to use fake hostages who aren’t under your purview already. Now get out so I can figure out where I’m going to sleep tonight.”

York left and on the way out very quietly let Irene know that there were several empty rooms near the one he shared with Carolina, because he knew privacy was hard to come by around the base and Vanessa deserved a quiet place to sleep off the headache Delta said there was a 98% chance he had just given her.

 

* * *

 

Carolina blinked and looked away from the screen, resting her eyes for five seconds before going right back to staring at it.

Pirates. Pirates paid off by Charon, pirates getting onto the planet through the UNSC’s no-fly zone.

The UNSC, which _had_ to be taking some flak for their lack of relief efforts. Epsilon had broadcast the message across the galaxy. People knew they were here. Someone had to be upset on behalf of Chorus. Right?

So assume that the UNSC was taking _some_ heat, or at the very least someone in the government was using the planet to try and push an agenda. But if the blockade was still being enforced, that meant the UNSC had something to gain.

The question was _what_.

Carolina growled in frustration, rubbed her eyes, and went right back to staring at the screen. She had to figure this out. She was _going_ to figure this out.

 

* * *

 

York hummed distractedly as he tested the chain of the handcuffs behind his back. He didn’t go so far as to try to break out of them—that would be just plain rude, especially considering all the effort Sastry had gone to.

He hoped that one of them figured out which room he was in soon, though, because this was boring.

Delta wasn’t even around for a distraction, so York started mentally reciting all the dirtiest limericks he could think of, tapping out the rhythm of the words against the desk.

Halfway through _there once was a guy from Poughkeepsie_ he heard the door open and a thunk as something hit the floor.

York tried to turn one way, then the other, and eventually settled for tipping his head way back, trying to get a look.

“Oh, hey Vanessa!” he said, cheerfully.

“Agent York.” Her face was too close to his peripherals, so he couldn’t get a bead on her expression, but her voice definitely sounded strangled. “Why are you—what is going on here?”

“Okay, I _know_ I filed the report for this—one sec.” York had to contort himself a bit, but wound up perched—or, well, sprawled—on Vanessa’s desk so he could at least face her while he talked. “I know I filed the report yesterday about the training exercise. I’m the fake hostage, so no one else had to get involved.”

“You didn’t mention you’d be using my office. Or—” her voice did something funny as she knelt down to pick up the dropped datapad. “— _handcuffs_.”

“Well, it is a hostage situation. And the ducklings could use the practice. Don’t worry, we’ll leave everything exactly as we found it.” He grinned up at her, stretching his arms the tiniest bit.

She stared for a moment, and then turned around. “I think I’m going to go work somewhere else.”

“Aw, no, crap, I didn’t mean to get—” and York scrambled to climb off the desk, get out of her way, but the chain of the cuffs was still going through the handle of the central drawer and he ended up tipping over the back side, bumping into the swivel chair and crashing onto the floor, almost taking the desk with him.

“ _York_!” Vanessa sounded more panicked than he’d heard before, and he heard footsteps rushing over to the desk.

“I’m okay!” he called out, and of course, that was when his arms had to twitch and pull the overbalanced desk down on top of him. “…less okay.”

There was a strange, strangled sound, and then genuine laughter in the air.

York didn’t know if he’d ever heard Vanessa laugh before. It was rusty, like she hadn’t had the chance to do it in a while, and then it broke out into warm whoops of laughter, full from the belly.

It was a really nice sound, York realized as it started to die down. He kind of wanted to hear it again.  

 

* * *

 

Vanessa finally managed to stop laughing long enough to call Irene and her lockpicks in and pry the desk off of York.

“You know, this is more about you than I ever wanted to know,” Irene commented, messing with the handcuffs.

“How dare you,” York said, rubbing his wrists. “I am an upstanding and moral citizen. I know my rights.”

“So do you…not want these back?”

“Nah, give them here.”

Vanessa looked up from where she was putting her desk back to rights. “You’re putting them back on?” There was an odd note in her voice.

“Well, I mean, I’m still technically a hostage.” He snapped them back around his wrists and waggled them at her. “No one’s come to bust me out yet.”

She sat down and let her head rest on one gloved hand. “I don’t suppose I could just bust you out right now and declare the exercise over?”

“Ehhhh….” York shrugged. “I’d give you a 50/50 chance of success. The ducklings are having fun.”

“So I’m not getting rid of you?”

“Probably not.”

The door shut and Vanessa looked up to see that Irene had left when they were talking.

“Really, I can go work somewhere else.”

“No, you don’t have to, I really didn’t mean to kick you out of your office. I can just go sit with Irene, I don’t think she’ll mind.”

“No, it’s fine—I could actually use your input on some of this.” She pulled up a screen and then paused, looking back at him. “There’s really no way you can take off the handcuffs?”

York pulled an offended face. “I _like_ them. Don’t you think they make me look classy?”

Vanessa turned back to her screen and let out an enormous sigh. “That…isn’t the word I would use.”

 

* * *

 

They were half an hour into a discussion on colonial procedures and rights, with Vanessa focusing on the kind of standards Chorus had to conform to to legally maintain independence.

“—and in addition to a defensive force, there are social and medical requirements as well. Most of those haven’t been in effect since the war—things like, oh, good high school graduation rates, low homelessness and unemployment, regular vaccinations for the populace. Chorus was supposed to maintain above-average rates for at least thirty years after independence. That sort of fell by the wayside, but—” Vanessa shrugged. “’You left us for dead’ should be able to cancel out ‘we didn’t fulfill every qualification.’”

York tilted his head thoughtfully. “I mean. It is something they might decide to be picky about, but there are other colonies who probably haven’t kept up since the war either. You could make a case.”

“Maybe. The least we’d have to do is keep up the other re—do you smell something?”

York sat bolt upright, ready to pop the handcuffs. “Gas?”

“No, nothing bad, it…” She frowned “I think it’s…vanilla?”

York took a very deep sniff, and yup, that was definitely vanilla. “Yeah, vanilla, and maybe…” He took another deep inhale. “…cinnamon?”

“Shit. Something must be wrong with the ventilation systems.” She stood up, grabbing her helmet and barging out the door.

York sat there, breathing deeply. The scent was actually quite nice.

“ _Dammit, I told you it wouldn’t work!”_ someone hissed inside the vent.

“Well, I mean, she left the room,” York called out. He held up his wrists and jingled them. “You gonna let me out?”

“…Nah _,_ ” someone else said

York rolled his eyes and sprung the handcuffs. “New training exercise,” he said, loudly and clearly. “Evasion tactics. Starting in three…two…”

There came a series of thuds and scrapes as the person in the vents scrambled away.

“One,” he concluded. He started spinning the handcuffs around one finger as he walked out the door, whistling. “This should be fun.”

 

* * *

 

Imelda scrambled through the vents away from Nada, trying to talk into her comm without giving her position away. "Mission was a failure. In more ways than one."

" _Explain_." Sastry was cool and commanding on the other end.

"Well, for one thing Operation: Set The Mood just made Kimball think the base was on fire. And for another, the old man didn't figure it out, but now he's hunting us."

".... _shit_."

"Yup. Shaikh and I split. I'm gonna do more hiding and less talking, and you might wanna run.”

 

* * *

 

A few days after the scare with the vents, Vanessa found herself back in her office, going over data with Carolina this time.

“I’m looking through all the data the pirates had on the UNSC, all the data Epsilon has on the UNSC, everything I can remember…” she shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing to explain what they would want with Chorus, nothing to explain what Hargrove could be giving them.”

“Great.” Vanessa rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Do you think there’s anything else that can be gained from looking on-planet?”

“Not sure. The first group of pirates could have had the information, but by now it would be gone.”

“Could it be for the alien artifacts?”

“I don’t know. Probably not—I think one of the conditions of the treaty was that the UNSC has to turn over Sangheili technology, so it wouldn’t be any—what’s that?”

“Hmm?” Vanessa sat up straighter as Carolina’s gaze zeroed in on her.

“In your hair.”

“What do you—” Vanessa could _feel_ the blush spreading as Carolina reached out a hand and plucked something from over Vanessa’s ear, touch feather-light.

“It looks like…” Carolina held it up in between them. “Is this a rose petal?”

As Vanessa blinked at it, another petal drifted down and landed on Carolina’s nose. She went cross-eyed at it, and Vanessa had to snort back a laugh.

Even more of them drifted down and the two of them watched, bemused.

“The ventilation’s probably broken again.” Vanessa brushed petals off her arm and stood up. “ _Irene!”_

She headed for the door, completely missing the way Carolina’s impossibly soft gaze lingered on the petals that had landed on her hair and along her shoulders.

 

* * *

 

“Yes, boss. I’ll get someone to check it over.”

“Thank you. In the meantime…” Kimball sighed and ran a hand through her hair, dislodging several petals. Irene did not miss the way Carolina’s eyes followed the motion. “I’ll go see if I can try and have that meeting with Gowda again. Carolina—” As Kimball turned, Carolina snapped back to attention, eyes fixed firmly on the other woman’s face. Irene tried not to bury her own face in her hands. “—would it be alright with you if we wait until my office is cleared out to finish our talk?”

“Of course. Do you want me to come with you to visit Gowda?”

Irene was going to smack them both, and no one could blame her.

After they’d both left, Irene opened a line to the ducklings’ room.

“ _How’d it go?”_

_“Did it work?”_

_“_ Donut’s idea number two is a no-go. Kimball just thought the ventilation broke again and Agent Carolina was too busy staring moonily to actually do anything.”

There was a chorus of groans at the other end.

“Speaking of which, whoever actually dumped the petals is going to have to clean them up now.”

Even more groans, until Campos’s voice broke in. “ _Does this mean we’re going with Tucker’s idea?”_

“Yes. Yes it does.”

 

* * *

 

Two days after the rose petal incident, which was also the second day after Vanessa had managed to have a civil conversation with Gowda and the other general had acknowledged that it would be better for Chorus to remain independent—something that had Vanessa in such high spirits she had impulsively hugged Carolina when she came back to finish their meeting—the base was hit by the first tremendous rainstorm of the season.

It wasn’t really a problem. They’d had the forecast for a few days by then, the base had been built to withstand some heavy-duty showers, and the jungle trees blocked some of the worst precipitation from reaching the ground.

Still, it was a wet and miserable situation and most people were planning to hole up in their quarters. Vanessa was already planning to discreetly turn a blind eye to the party the lieutenants had been plotting. Unless it caused active mayhem, it wasn’t her problem. She was just going to do her work, make sure all the patrols got back safely, and go get a good night’s sleep.

That plan was ruined when she woke at two in the morning to water dripping down her forehead.

She groaned, pulled the blankets over her head, and moved, but the leaks persisted no matter where she went. Eventually, she was forced to concede defeat, hauling out of her nice warm nest to try and find a solution.

The room had been checked for structural integrity when she moved in, but clearly not closely enough. Vanessa sighed, and slowly started putting her armor on. She’d just have to find somewhere else to sleep.

It turned out every other bunk in the row was suffering from similar roof problems, and after she’d checked every single one, she was left back at her own door, face buried in her hands and trying not to break down crying because she just wanted to go to _sleep_.

When she finally made herself breathe, count to one hundred, and look up, she could see that York and Carolina’s door was still shut. As she watched, it slid open, a soft green glow around the base, and she could see that inside it was dry. No puddles on the floor. No drips on the two sets of armor. No rain getting on the couple curled around each other on the bed, fast asleep—

Vanessa knew she was staring, but she couldn’t make herself look away.

Carolina, on the outside, shivered as the room’s temperature cooled, one long bare arm grasping at the covers. She sat up slowly, languidly, moving like she was still dreaming, and blinked at the doorway.

Her eyes, still barely fluttering open, caught on to Vanessa’s where she was still staring, fixedly, through the open door. A small smile tugged at Carolina’s lips, soft and warm and _inviting—_

Vanessa yanked herself off the door like she’d been burned and stumbled down the hallway, heading in a blind panic for the refuge of her office.

It took her a couple of false starts, because she still wasn’t used to approaching it from this direction, and one run across an open area of the base that absolutely soaked her head because she’d forgotten her helmet _again_. Eventually, though, she made it there, slamming the door behind her and collapsing at her desk.

“No,” she said, quietly and viciously, into the dark spaces of the room. “No. That is _not for you._ ”

She stared into nothing for a long while before trying to make herself go back to work. But she couldn’t shake the image of York and Carolina’s dark and quiet and warm room, of the way they had pressed into each other so closely like they’d lose each other if they let go, the way York was taking up so much space Carolina was practically falling off the bed and there’d still been a hollow in between him and the wall, just the right size for a person—

Irene found her the next morning fast asleep, slumped over her desk where she’d collapsed onto it, dreaming of warmth.

 

* * *

 

Carolina listened to the rain drumming on the roof of the mess hall, munching on the brown crunchy things that were today’s breakfast fare. They weren’t as crunchy as usual—maybe because of the humidity?

A weight pressed slowly down against her shoulder and she sighed, shoving York’s coffee cup up under his nose. He jolted off of her with a sleepy murmur, grabbing at the mug.

“ _Someone’s_ tired today,” Tucker said from across the table, waggling his eyebrows.

Carolina rolled her eyes, poking York as he started to droop again. “He’s always useless in the mornings.”

“Is it worse today?” Tucker was still waggling his eyebrows.

“Not really.” Carolina raised one eyebrow right back.

“Soooo,” Donut cut into the conversation. “Have you seen Kimball today?”

Something about that nagged at Carolina’s tired brain, but she shook her head. “No. Why would I have?”

Tucker and Donut both stared at her.

“No reason,” Donut finally said. “No reason at _all_.”

Carolina watched them for a moment longer, but when they gave nothing away she sighed and took her plate up.

Behind her, she heard Tucker let out an enormous groan. “Jesus _Christ_.”

Sensing an impending argument, she walked even faster, heading out of the mess hall.

* * *

 

Vanessa wasn’t _avoiding_ Carolina and York. That would be ridiculous and immature and unprofessional. She just. Hadn’t seen them lately. For reasons.

It was just that she and Gowda were even busier than ever lately, now that they were actually working together. And York and Carolina were probably busy too. She wouldn’t know. She hadn’t seen them lately. Because she had been busy.

“You’re avoiding them.”

“No, I’m not.” Vanessa didn’t look up from her paperwork, but she could practically feel Irene’s eyebrow raise.

“You know, normally you’d ask who I was talking about.”

Crap.

“I don’t need to. Because I’m not avoiding anyone. At all.” She closed what was an actual paper file for once and pushed it at Irene. “That’s the last of the defense outlines. You can send that to Gowda along with the town hall prep.”

Irene took the file and opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then closed it again, a conniving expression on her face.

Vanessa wasn’t going to ask. Vanessa wasn’t even going to worry about it, because there was nothing to worry about, because she wasn’t avoiding anyone. Especially not Carolina and York.

The door to her office swung open and Tucker strolled in. “Hey, Kimball! Man it feels like it’s been ages since we really talked, you know?”

Vanessa looked up from her brand-new paperwork. “Are we counting yesterday when you tried to waylay me to talk about different kinds of lube?”

“I—no. Maybe. No.”

“What was that about, anyways?” She really wasn’t sure, because he had taken a solid twenty seconds to start the conversation in the first place and mostly seemed to be focused on blocking her path.

A lot of people had been doing that lately, trying to get in her way. She had been staying in her office more to avoid it.

“Nothing. Nothing important. So, my _point_ is that we haven’t really hung out lately!”

“We haven’t...ever really hung out,” she pointed out.

“So obviously we need to change that. Wash talked Sarge into a truce, and we’re having a movie night to celebrate.”

“That’s nice,” Vanessa said, politely. It did sound nice, actually, a good group activity. Good for general morale if they decided to hold it somewhere public. “Do you need a room?”

“Nah, Donut already reserved a space for Friday night.”

“Well, I hope you have fun.”

“Kimball, you’re fucking invited. This is me, inviting you.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows went up. “Uh. Well. Thank you, I appreciate the invitation.”

“So you’ll be there?”

“I…” she pulled up her schedule, hoping for a convenient excuse, only to see that her evening two days away was suspiciously open. “I don’t know. I have a lot of work.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

Vanessa pointedly picked up the enormous stack of files in her outbox and shook it at him, trusting that he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between her inbox and outbox.

“Still bullshit. Come _onnnnnn_ , it’s just one night!”

“Tucker, why are you so intent on this?”

“I told you! We never talk enough, I want to hang out with you!”

“I will think about it,” she conceded. “Now shoo. Unless you want to do my paperwork for me.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going!”

 

* * *

 

Tucker showed up at her door the next day after she had already been in her office for four hours. He was yawning.

Vanessa had found that even if she was sharing a corridor with them, she could still keep from running into York and Carolina if she got up early and went to bed late. She was getting a lot of work done lately.

“So have you thought about it?”

Vanessa blinked at him, genuinely confused. “Thought about—oh. Oh, right. The movie…” she rubbed her head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it, but thank you again—”

“Oh, bullshit!”

“ _Tucker_.”

“One night, Kimball! One fucking night to have some fun and not sit there like a paperwork robot or whatever it is this planet needs you to be, come _on_.”

Vanessa set down her stylus with a loud _click_. “Tucker, I said I would think about it. I thought about it. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. That’s the sum of it. Now, unless there’s anything else you need, I’m going to have to ask you to leave so I can get back to work.”

“Ugh, _fine_.” She could hear him mutter “paperwork robot” under his breath as he left and she let out a long sigh.

 

* * *

 

Jensen and Andersmith popped up at her door later, and Vanessa happily looked away from her work this time. She had spent more time with the lieutenants before the armies merged, but with her increased responsibilities and with the captains there to provide support she hadn’t talked with them even a tenth as much as she used to.

“Andersmith, Jensen. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We were just hoping to secure your approval on these plans, sir.” Andersmith presented her with a datapad while Jensen practically vibrated in place.

Vanessa glanced it over. “You’re having a party on Friday? Aren’t I not supposed to know about these kind of things?”

“It is a small, friendly, get-together,” Jensen informed her with far too much dignity for the way she kept glancing distractedly at the ceiling. Andersmith stepped forward before Vanessa could look up.

“We feel that it’s important to get your approval on such a potentially volatile venture.”

Vanessa blinked once, twice, and then decided she really didn’t want to know. “This better not collapse any more of my base.”

“I will personally ensure it does not, sir.”

She sighed, and signed off anyways, considering it a good thing that she would have Friday free anyways in case she needed to shut this down.

“Thanks, Kimball!” Jensen’s grin was almost visible through her helmet as she took the datapad back.

Before Vanessa could ask either of them how they had been, there was a loud and ominous crack from the ceiling behind them.

_“Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap.”_

_“I told you that was sheetrock!”_

With a much louder crack and lots of yelling, one of the panels gave way and Bitters and Palomo crashed to the ground.

Vanessa was on her feet with her gun leveled in automatic response, but she lowered it as soon as she realized who it was. Reluctantly.

“What the hell are you two doing?”

“Uhhhhhhh….”

 _“We gotta go BYE!”_ Jensen yelped. In some complicated maneuver Vanessa didn’t quite catch, she and Andersmith had grabbed Palomo and Bitters by the arms and hauled them out the door before she could react.

Vanessa slumped back into her chair, reholtered her pistol, and seriously considered locking down the base on Friday night.

 

* * *

 

The next day and a half was, contrary to all expectations, remarkably quiet. Vanessa stayed in her office a lot, shuffled a lot of paperwork, put in plenty of hours down at the firing range, and only failed to escape— _happened to run into_ Carolina once, during an ill-timed commissary visit. Carolina had been great, of course, comfortable and talkative and Vanessa had let her guard down long enough to be drawn into a pleasant conversation before she saw York coming and remembered that she wasn’t supposed to be doing this. She couldn’t be doing this.

She had ended up halfway across the base with a tray in her hands before she quite realized what she was doing, and the tray was still lurking under her desk in shame when the power went out.

“God _fucking_ dammit,” she said, alone in the dark.

Her helmet was, for some reason, over by the door on top of a stack of datapads, upside down with three pencils inside of it.

Vanessa had been shuffling a _lot_ of paperwork.

What this meant was that she had to grope her way over to the door, cautiously collect and don her helmet without stabbing herself with a pencil, and then just as cautiously open the door.

To her great shock, the lights were on and Irene looked up with absolutely no alarm. “Ms. Kimball?”

“Power’s out in my office.”

Irene let out a low whistle. “Well, that stinks.”

“Tell me about it. Any reports of issues anywhere else?” Vanessa knew the base was going to fall apart eventually, but she had really been hoping it would take longer.

“No, everything’s fine from what I’ve heard.”

“I don’t suppose this is something York’s ducklings broke?” If it was, she could get them to fix it. Or Irene can.

“They’ve been running training exercises outside the base. And most of the tech team’s probably clocked out to go to the party by now. Bitters and Matthews took over the commissary, everyone’s going.”

Vanessa wasn’t even surprised. “I’ll just head back to my room and work there, then.”

“Let me see your pad?”

Vanessa held it out, and Irene took it, opened a drawer in her desk, and dropped it in.

“Hey!”

When she reached out to take it back, she found herself holding a bottle of something. It was the right color for Doc Vidal’s moonshine. That did not bode well.

“I hear you’re invited to a movie night. You should go.”

“You set me up,” Vanessa said, in a half-hearted accusation.

“ _Go_.”

 

* * *

 

York was stretched out on a couch with some popcorn substitute watching Carolina smile at Epsilon arguing with Sarge when there was a knock at the door. Tucker immediately perked up and bounded over to answer it.

 _< Are we missing anyone?>_ York asked Delta, because he was pretty sure everyone who was supposed to be here was already here. Including Caboose.

Delta didn’t answer, in a way that was _very suspicious._

< _D… >_

Before York could pester it out of him, Tucker swept upon the door. “Heeeeey, Kimball! Looks like you could make it after all.”

York perked up at that, sitting up on the couch because it felt like forever since he’d last seen Vanessa, let alone talked to her. He felt more than saw Carolina tense up against his legs and determinedly not look.

“It seems the wiring in my office had an…incident,” she said, her voice very dry. “I brought—oh.”

York grinned where she had caught his eye, holding up the bowl of popcorn substitute. “Want some? It’s a bit crunchy, but it’s not too bad.”

“No, I’m…good, thanks.” She offered him a hesitant smile, and then offered a bottle to Tucker. “I brought drinks, but I don’t know if I—”

“Oh no. _Ohhhh_ no. You are not backing out of this now. You’re gonna make Caboose sad.”

“I am sad!” Caboose shouted. “Oh no. Boo hoo. Crying. Crying. Gut-wrenching sobs!” He sounded far too cheerful about it to be convincing, but Vanessa hesitated anyways.

“I…”

“Great, you’re here, you brought drinks, we can start the movie now, come _on._ ” Tucker pulled her into the room, shutting the door behind her.

There weren’t many seats left—aside from the couch where York was stretched out on one end, knees angled down to rest against Carolina’s legs on the other, there was a second couch that Grif and Simmons had claimed half of. Caboose took up the other half. Sarge and Dr. Grey were sharing a chair. So were Wash and Tucker, before Tucker had gotten up to answer the door. Doc and Donut had built a nest of blankets on the floor.

York obligingly pulled his legs back to open up the middle seat on the couch for Vanessa, and Tucker led her in that direction before swiping the bottle.

“What even is this?”

Vanessa carefully settled down against the couch, tightly crossing her legs like she was afraid of taking up too much space. “I’m not entirely sure. One of the medics has been brewing it in the back of the infirmary since before I was even leader of the New Republic.”

Grey let out a wicked cackle. “Oh, trust me sweetie, you don’t _want_ to know.”

The sim troopers all turned to stare at her, and then at Vanessa, who shrugged. “It’s not half-bad.”

“Oh my god, can we just get whatever dumb musical Donut picked over with?”

“Okay, one, this is a _timeless classic_ , and two, I won the tossing contest fair and square!”

While Red Team descended into bickering—or rather, resumed their usual bickering—Tucker let out a very long groan and leaned forward to start the movie.

“So…what is this?” Vanessa asked.

“Some old movie Donut had on his hard drive.”

“What _kind_ of old movie?”

“Not a homemade one, I checked.”

She snorted and leaned back against the couch, relaxing just a bit. York saw Carolina relax as well, leaning further back and just a bit closer to the center.

As the screen lit up, showing the backs of three people holding black umbrellas, York shifted his legs until they were nudging at Vanessa’s. She jumped a bit, the first time they brushed against hers, but she didn’t move away, and eventually she slowly relaxed, uncrossing her legs and leaning against his. Her head on the back of the couch slowly tilted, until it was almost resting against Carolina’s shoulder.

York turned back to the screen, grinning like a loon and not quite sure why.

* * *

 

Even though it was a little…saccharine for her tastes, Carolina had to admit, the movie hadn’t been half bad. Especially once the drinking game had broken out despite Donut’s objections.

Vanessa and York had both gotten more and more giggly as the evening wore on, especially once Carolina had gotten bored enough to start making acerbic comments directed at the characters. At some point, Vanessa had laughed so hard she tipped over so her head fell in Carolina’s lap.

Carolina had been too shocked to do anything, especially since she wasn’t sure whether moving too quickly would chase the other woman away, _especially_ since she suddenly wasn’t sure if she _wanted_ that. So she hadn’t done anything, and Vanessa had stayed there, and eventually her legs had come up to dangle over York’s lap at the other end of the couch.

Carolina kept one hand on the arm of the couch and the other firmly under one leg because Vanessa’s hair looked much fluffier up close and she shouldn’t touch it. She really shouldn’t.

“—and there we were, in the middle of the fucking desert with fucking aliens and Donut’s trying to teach them to talk so he busts out _this_ fucking thing and the next day I keep hearing humming.” Tucker’s enthusiastic gestures were on the verge of overbalancing both him and Wash. “All over! The fucking temple! Have you ever heard a giant fucking Sangheili try to hum? Or tap dance?” He shook his head, flopping back. “Shit’s crazy, dude. K-R-A-Z-Y.”

“Why were you stationed with aliens, anyways?” Vanessa asked, turning just a little bit. Carolina held very still.

Tucker tipped his head up from where it had fallen back on Wash’s shoulder. “Some treaty bullshit with the UNSC and the Covenant. One of the groups was getting pissy about humans using their “sacred tech”—wasn’t really following it, to be honest—so any mission the UNSC wanted to send out to investigate had to be joint human-Sangheili.”

“Sacred tech? Do we have to worry about that here?” Vanessa sat up, sounding far too worried for how light the mood had been, and Carolina resisted the urge to pull her back down and make her stop.

“Nah—”

“Oh, no—”

Tucker and Dr. Grey both chimed in with denials, but Grey waved off explanations onto Tucker.

“’S only for uncolonized planets. Chorus has had people for a long enough time that the aliens don’t have any more claim. This is your planet now, including all the—” Tucker waved one hand vaguely. “The zappy stuff.”

“Huh.” Vanessa lay back down, tension drifting away, and Carolina let her hand creep forward. Just a bit.

She had to yank it back when Vanessa sat bolt upright again, looking like she’d been electrocuted.

“Colonized planet, alien tech, jurisdiction—” Her words came out in a frantic mess, and Carolina could only stare. Epsilon had logged off, so she had to try and decipher it herself. “Fuck. That’s _it_.” She hauled herself to her feet, a little bit shaky but mostly upright. “Excuse me, I have to go blackmail the UNSC right now, thank you for the invitation, this was great.”

She was out the door before Carolina or anyone else could stop her.

Tucker stared after her, stared at Carolina and York on the couch, traded looks with Donut who only had his head poking out of the blanket nest, and then grabbed a pillow to muffle a frustrated scream.

“This. Is such. _Bullshit!”_

York and Carolina both looked at him and then traded glances. York nodded and headed out the door after Vanessa while Carolina turned to glare down the room.

“Alright, who wants to explain what the hell is going on here?”

There was a complete lack of response.

“Let me rephrase that. Someone _better_ explain what the hell is going on here.”

There was still a complete lack of response, but at least they were trading guilty looks now.

Donut broke first, with a very loud sigh. “We were _trying_ to be _subtle_ about this, but since apparently none of you would know subtle if it licked you in the ass, fine! You and York are both as stupidly in love with Kimball as she is with you.”

Tucker surfaced from the pillow and waved it at them. “And you all are being such giant idiots about this that _none of you have fucking noticed!_ This is worse than Blood Gulch with those two idiots!” The pillow was waved in Grif and Simmons’ direction, prompting loud complaints.

Carolina didn’t really take it in, because her brain was currently in the process of rebooting its higher functions.

She went so unresponsive that Epsilon actually came back online and took a good look at the situation, only to announce _< NOPE> _and log off again.

“…what?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always--this is a fic for the Big Bang! Art is still courtesy of [adobewanphotobi,](adobewanphotobi.tumblr.com) GO FORTH AND LOVE HER. Poem is still Aiken. 
> 
> THANK YOU TO STEPH FOR READING THIS OVER. 
> 
> hahahahhahahaha let's ignore how long it's been since i updated k. i fell off the writing wagon because these last couple of months have been. insane. 
> 
> new season! intrigue! plot and stuff! and A BLOCKADE, DID I CALL IT OR DID I CALL IT
> 
> I promised matchmaking and space politics and I hope I delivered! Seriously, you have no IDEA how long I've been holding onto that handcuff scene. I wrote that before chapter 1 was even DONE. And also FINALLY. CASHING. IN. ON PLOT THREADS. HOORAH. 
> 
> I also tripped over a bunch more feelings about Chorus and recent history and colonization and the independence movement. Hoo ha ha. 
> 
> In case anyone's wondering, the movie they watch is Singing in the Rain, which, in addition to being an adorable and wonderful musical features the closest thing to a polyamorous relationship i've ever seen in a movie. Donut's definitely trying to set a Mood.
> 
> I've recently posted some bonus content for this on [ Tumblr](http://sroloc--elbisivni.tumblr.com/post/160424091474/red-vs-blue-tolaous-bonus-content-make-way-for) if you want to check it out! i've also got a playlist for this fic that...should go up on there soon? hopefully?
> 
> if you want to talk to me about matchmaking shenanigans or space politics or these oblivious dorks who STiLL HaVEn'T KIsSEd EACH OTHER or the new wonder woman movie (i just saw it like two hours ago iTS"S SO GODODOODODOD) comment box is right below!


	5. Shall we be bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa found herself once again climbing onto a chair at a party, this time balancing her datapad instead of a drink and trying to find Gowda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So we pace_   
>  _From here to there, from there to here,-touch hands_   
>  _As alien each to each as leaf and stone,_   
>  _One chaos and another. Have good heart!_   
>  _Your chaos is my world; perhaps my chaos_   
>  _Is world enough for you._   
> 

Vanessa found herself once again climbing onto a chair at a party, this time balancing her datapad instead of a drink and trying to find Gowda.  

It took her a minute to spot the other general in a quieter corner. Mostly because she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Gowda smiling.

She climbed down and headed through the crowd, which shifted rapidly around her. It probably helped that some of them were afraid she was going to shut the party down.

Not that Vanessa would, considering how good it was for morale, but at least the perceived threat made her life easier.

“Gowda!”

The other general looked up, her smile dropping away. “Kimball? What is it, are we under attack?”

“No—no, sorry.” Vanessa abruptly realized how bad this must look. “No attack, no danger, I just—sorry,” she apologized again as the woman keeping Gowda company took the glasses and moved away. “I know what the UNSC wants here. And maybe even a way to blackmail them out of it.”

Gowda listened intently and studied the datapad as Vanessa outlined what Tucker had told her, about the treaty terms that made it illegal for the UNSC to seize technology from any uncolonized planets.

“We were a colony before the war broke out, before anyone had even _heard_ of the Sangheili. But because of the terms of independence—” she pulled up the relevant treaty and shoved it at Gowda. “—we have all the right to say what happens to it. But the thing is, the claim reverts to the UNSC if the colony fails. And guess which company has first rights to all technology for purposes of research and development?”

“Charon.” Gowda shaped the word like a curse.

“Exactly.” Vanessa clenched her fist. “This is _it_ . No wonder the UNSC wouldn’t get involved—no wonder they _still_ haven’t gotten involved. If Charon kills us all off, they and the UNSC get the biggest legal cache of alien technology ever discovered.” Gowda’s frown deepened, and Vanessa rushed to add, “Charon wouldn’t even need the whole UNSC on their side. Bribe the right generals and they could probably slide right under the radar.”

“You’re right.” Gowda picked her glass back up and took a long, slow drink. “Where does the blackmail come into it?”

“I’d—” Vanessa blinked. “I’d say the conspiracy to murder an entire planet and seize alien technology would make some fairly damning evidence.”

“Prove it’s a conspiracy.”

“Well—” Vanessa started, and then trailed off, closing her mouth. She opened it again. Closed it again.

The woman from earlier came back with a pair of drink glasses, and Gowda shoved one Vanessa’s direction. Vanessa shook her head.

“It’s just juice.”

Vanessa still shook her head.

Gowda sighed and took it back. “I believe you. I want to believe it could work. But if all the pieces are out there—all the files the Reds and Blues sent out to boot—and there still isn’t enough outcry, then there’s never going to be. We need hard evidence.”

Vanessa stared down at her datapad and had to resist the urge to break it. It felt like they’d finally come _close_ , and now…

“Evidence,” she said, turning the word over on her tongue. “We need evidence? I’ll get your evidence.”

“Kimball?” Gowda said, something strange in her voice. “What are you planning?”

Vanessa stood up, clutching her datapad, and wandered back off into the crowd.

She headed out the way she’d come, the crowd still shifting around her.

It was quieter outside the party, but it took her a while to realize someone was calling her name.

“Vanessa! ‘Nessa! Hey, Kimball!”

“Hmmm?” She stopped in the middle of the hallway and turned around, blinking at a York who had just appeared.

“Slow down, where’re you going?” He caught up and reached out a hand like he was going to put it on her shoulder, then drew it back.

“I…” She thought about it. “My office, I guess.”

“No, c’mon, it’s late. Don’t do that.”

“I have to find something. I need evidence, I need to…” She trailed off, waving her datapad around carelessly. “… _do_ something.”

“No, you don’t, not right now.” He reached out again, and this time set one gentle hand on her wrist, lowering the hand with the datapad. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“Yes, I _do_ . I have to do something, because this is my planet and this is my army and I’m the one in charge of keeping—all these people alive. I _have_ to do it, because—because I’m the last choice. Because if not me, there isn’t anyone else, or I wouldn’t be in charge in the first place.”

It came out very honest and she had no idea why York’s visible eye went sad. Delta’s green light blinked into being over his shoulder, and Vanessa looked at the AI, mind working as York said something she didn’t quite hear.

Of _course_.

“Shut up,” she said, patting at his chest. “Shut up for a minute.”

York shut up and eyed her warily, but he stayed put under her hand and Vanessa could feel her veins humming warm and bright and alive.

“I’m going to blackmail the UNSC,” she told him, “And you’re going to help me.”

* * *

 

York managed to convince Vanessa that the best thing to do would be to go to sleep and blackmail the UNSC in the morning. He managed that by taking away her datapad and holding it out of reach until she followed him down the hall and he could put it inside her room.

She tried to argue, but couldn’t hold out against her yawns. York put the datapad by her bedside and walked to the door, because staying in her room while she was tipsy and should be sleeping was creepy and rude and weird, right? Right.  

He still waited to leave until Vanessa was safely under the covers, watching her burrow under the blankets until her back was pressed against the wall. She blinked in the light from the hallway.

Delta gave him a small nudge. _ <You have been standing here for three minutes, York. _>

York blinked, pulling himself away. “Well, uh. Good night.”

“Night,” she mumbled.

He stepped backwards, closing the door and immediately turning towards his and Carolina’s room, because he didn’t want to risk standing there and staring at her door for another three minutes. Or ten. Or an hour or however long it took to take the image of Vanessa looking so very soft and small and still so guarded and push it down into a corner of his head.

The door to his own room slid open without a sound. Carolina was already in the bed, leaving about a foot on the outside while her arms extended to the wall. Her chest moved up and down, slowly and evenly.

York pulled off his shoes and jeans and crawled in next to her, trying futilely to push her further in to get more space.

She shuffled about an inch, silently, which was how he knew she was still awake.

He chose not to say anything, dropping a quiet kiss on her hair and reaching his own arms over to tangle with hers.

They could talk in the morning.

As he was drifting off to sleep, York idly wondered why and how Carolina could leave enough space for another person between her and the wall while still almost pushing him off the bed. It wasn’t even like they _needed_ to fit another person in here. After all.

Delta gave a soft mental sigh, but York was asleep before he could ask.

* * *

 

Carolina got up early the next morning, pulling out of York’s arms (ignoring his whine) and heading out into the base.

Apparently Chorus’ rainy season had arrived. Carolina had gotten used to walking through the wet every time she went outside, but for once the precipitation had eased.

If she pulled off her helmet, the air might smell clean and fresh, like the whole world had been power-washed. Or it might smell like the dumpsters she passed behind the mess hall. Carolina decided to let it remain a mystery.

_ <So.> _

Or maybe she should give up mysteries. Embrace life. Stop to smell the weird glowing mushrooms.

_ <C…> _

Since she was by the mess hall, she should see if there was anything out yet. Everyone was probably sleeping off the big party last night, but the kitchen staff were good about leaving out small things to eat.

 _ <You can’t ignore this forever _.>

Breakfast. Most important meal of the day.

“Caro- _lina_.” Epsilon gave up on being acknowledged over the neural link and projected himself out into the air. “Seriously. You’re doing this?”

“Doing what.”

“Oh, come on.” His tone was peevish. “You’re going to have to talk about this _sometime_.”

“Talk about what.” She turned into the mess hall. There were a couple of people there, nursing their coffee cups. What a good plan.

“I mean, if nothing else, the guys are gonna try setting you and York up with Kim—”

She swatted her hand through his projection. “Shut _up_.”

Epsilon stayed silent as she got herself a mug of shitty coffee with cream substitute and a protein bar, but as soon as she sat down he went right back to talking.

_ <Seriously, that’s the only reason I’m talking to you about this shit. They’re gonna lock you in a closet sooner or later.> _

Carolina took an aggressive bite of her protein bar.

 _ <Talk. About. Your feelings.> _ Epsilon started jabbing at the neural centers in her armor. It didn’t _hurt_ , it just felt like her funny bone was suddenly in her right hip.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she muttered. “They’re being delusional idiots. Again.”

 _ <Do you know how much goddamn data _ Delta’s _collected on Kimball’s heart rate? Too fucking much. > _

He sounded grumpier than usual, and Carolina tried to take the opportunity. “That had some venom, Epsilon. Do we need to talk about _your_ feelings?”

 _ <Oh, fuck you.> _ He logged off grumpily, but not before sending a file to her inbox.

It was labeled “collected heart rate data.” Carolina refused to open it.

She went to the gym, because no one was there this early and Epsilon thought workouts were “boring as fuck,” and punched the bag until her arms were trembling and she was breathing hard.

By the time she’d had enough and showered off, a notification had appeared on her HUD. Van— _Kimball_ wanted to see her. At her earliest convenience.

Carolina tried not to knock anyone over on her way down the corridors.

“Oh, Carolina.”

Kimball was at her desk, her helmet on one side projecting a holographic screen. Her hair was damp and just starting to fluff up again, and there was a drawn look to her features. Carolina didn’t like it.

“You called me?”

“Yes, I—” she pushed away her helmet with one hand and grabbed a datapad with the other, avoiding Carolina’s eyes. “I have a mission for you.”

“A mission?”

“I need proof of the UNSC’s actions on Chorus.”

Epsilon logged back on halfway through Kimball laying out the evidence, and stayed remarkably quiet as she finished. Carolina clenched her hands into fists, hearing her gauntlets creak.

It all made too much damned _sense_.

“If we don’t force the UNSC to cut ties, with Charon, they’ll have no motivation to lift the blockade. If they don’t lift the blockade…we could be holding out for a _very_ long time. We just…don’t have the resources.” She flicked her fingers over the datapad, pulling up a new set of statistics. “Failing that, we might need to find a way to reach out to the Sangheili, because the UNSC’s trying to sneak around _their_ treaty after all, but I _really_ don’t want to have to open up that political can of worms.” Her mouth turned down, pulling sharper lines into her face.

“You won’t have to.” Carolina spoke up immediately, pulling her eyes away from Kimball’s lips. “I’ll find the evidence for you.” _Even if I have to tear up half the planet._

The relief on her face was immediate, every muscle relaxing. “ _Thank_ you.”

“Can I take this to York?” Carolina asked, picking up the datapad.

Kimball stilled for a moment, blinking. “I—right.” She shook her head. “You know how you work best, Carolina. I trust you with whatever resources you need to handle this. Do whatever you need to do.”

Carolina took the datapad and left, not trusting herself to say anything.

_ <So.> _

_ <Shut up, Epsilon.> _

* * *

 

York was off in the room in the corner of base his ducklings had taken over, running one of them—Private Thakkar, Carolina remembered after a moment—through a blueprint. Sastry was leaning on the table, watching with sharp eyes and occasionally contributing a comment. Shaikh was also watching from a perch on the back of the couch, her legs against Mohamed’s side as he flicked through a sheaf of papers.

Carolina leaned against the wall outside and looked for a while, reluctant to disturb the scene.

Eventually, Sastry and Thakkar began to argue, drawing the hologram closer.

“—except we couldn’t go that way, because the guard rotation—”

“Well, do you have any _better_ ideas?”

Thakkar crossed their arms and huffed. “As a matter of _fact—_ ”

York looked up then, finally, and grinned when he saw her.

She jerked her head towards the hallway and he stepped away from his bickering trainees, leaving a space that Shaikh filled to get a better look at the blueprints.

“What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you about something—are you free?”

Back during Freelancer, she knew he would have dropped anything if she asked, and had depended on it.

Now, he paused, and looked back into the room, clearly considering the question. Carolina found she didn’t mind.

“Give me five minutes to wrap this up?”

“Sure. I’ll meet you at the edge of the base.”

He grinned and walked back inside just in time to cut off what was growing into a shouting match.

_ <Yeesh. Kids these days.> _

_ <Epsilon, you’re seven.> _

_ <Oh, shut up.> _

* * *

 

York met up with her seven minutes later while she was reading through the data for the second time.

“They grow up so fast,” he announced, flopping onto the ground. “And yet I’m pretty sure Thakkar’s going to find itching powder.” He wriggled around on the ground, getting comfortable. “What did you want to talk about?”

Carolina tapped the datapad against her leg, pursing her lips together.

It was fine. This was fine. Vanessa _trusted_ her with this. She didn’t need to prove anything.

York had helped her before. York had _always_ helped her.

This would be fine.

“We’ve got a mission.”

“Oh?”

She dropped the datapad onto his stomach. “We need to find blackmail on the UNSC.”

York took a few moments to read in silence, and Carolina crossed her arms tightly and discussed strategy with Epsilon.

Or rather, she threw out dumb ideas so he could act superior about shutting them down instead of bothering her trying to get her to talk about emotions that _didn’t matter._

“Huh,” York said after he was done. “ _Huh_. So that’s what Vanessa was talking about last night.”

At the words “last night” Epsilon stopped smugly ripping holes in her latest suggestion and paid very close attention.

Carolina refused to ask about it.

“So, any ideas?”

Epsilon managed to make a sound somewhere between a scream and a groan that Carolina wouldn’t have thought was possible without vocal cords.

“Hmmm.” York looked enormously thoughtful. “Well, obviously first stop is the pirate bases.”

“Hargrove’s too damn careful,” Carolina muttered. “Even with Felix and Locus and all their crew gone. He might not even _give_ them anything that could be linked to him.”

“And interrogation isn’t likely to get us the answers _or_ the evidence we need. Still. For thoroughness’ sake.” He perked up. “Plus we can clobber them now that we know who they’re working for.”

Carolina did let herself smile at that.

“But if we need a plan B…” He drummed his fingers against the datapad. “I’ve been training up some grifters in the ducklings. Seed them in a few bars and we’ll at least have more sets of ears out. Not to mention extra hackers, people to process information, tails…”

Carolina waited for that sullen anger to flare up, the hard ball in her stomach that said she didn’t _need_ the help.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d been expecting, but she still had to remind herself that this was fine. This would be _fine_.

“Okay. How long do you need to get them ready?”

York sucked in air through his teeth. “I’d _like_ a week. I can do it in three days.” He sighed and leaned back to lie on the floor. “But then I don’t get to go with you on a recon mission. And I was so looking forward to watching you punch a pirate.”

Carolina laughed, and then stopped herself, because this wasn’t fair, was it.

“ _You AND York._ ”

 _ <Oh my god. _>

He deserved to make a choice, didn’t he?

 _ <Are you finally fucking doing this? _>

And if it was…not her, well. She had to know.

_ <Wait wait wait hang on—> _

“So, Donut told me something interesting last night. After you left,” she said, carefully.

“Really?” York had his plan-distracted look on as he lifted the datapad over his face. “What’s that?”

“They said that you and I are just as gone over Kimball as she is on us.”

The datapad fell and smashed York in the nose.

Carolina made herself wait, pulling her lips between her teeth.

“Uh,” York said, voice strangled. “That would.” He paused. “They’re sure?”

“They had some. Compelling evidence.”

“Oh.” He paused again. “That would. Make a lot of sense.” Another pause. “ _Oh._ ”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Carolina started to grin. “Did you not _realize?_ ”

Because she could see it, now, looking back. The way York acted toward Vanessa, patient and charming and genuine.

“I’m an idiot, we’ve talked about this,” York joked, sitting up and looking at her. “And—you?”

Carolina took a very deep and slow breath, considering—

“Yes,” Epsilon snapped, popping out. “Oh my fucking god yes, she’s about ready to write sonnets and die on a battlefield— _please_ just get this _over_ with already and stop being a _stupid mushy fucking idiot_.”

“Epsilon!” Carolina snapped.

“Am I fucking _wrong?_ ”

“I—You—shut up.” Carolina swiped a hand through Epsilon’s projection and he vanished.

And now York was grinning at her, warm and open and close to laughter.

“Shut _up_ ,” she told him.

“I’m not saying _anything_.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Actually, I do have a question.”

Carolina sighed. “What?”

“Do we try and kiss her before or after we get the data?”

“…After. Definitely after.”

_ <I just want to say that I was totally fucking right.> _

_ <Shut. Up.> _

* * *

 

York had Delta copy over the information and then gave the datapad back to Carolina, along with a kiss on the forehead before he bolted.

Thakkar and Sastry would both be meeting up with him later, to review the puzzle he’d given them, so he could work with them on strategy then. He’d probably want to call Kulkarni in, too, let him design and streamline the information network.

For now, though…

York hadn’t had cause to swing by the infirmary after the full vaccine retrieval errand, and he hadn’t had cause to swing by before the first vaccine retrieval.

York really. Was not a fan of infirmaries, these days. Delta could scold him about “dangerous tendencies” and “unhealthy emotional responses,” but the AI also didn’t enjoy spending time in infirmaries. York just accepted that neither of them was at all good at coping, decided to cross that bridge when they could no longer go around it, and move on with life.

He poked his head in cautiously, wary of any wild stethoscopes, and scanned the room.

_Aha!_

“Doc Vidal?” he called out. “You busy?”

The medic looked up from where she was wrapping a bandage around some soldier’s leg. “Oh, no. Not at all. I have so much free time, I don’t know what to do with myself.” She held up a large pair of medical scissors and snipped them menacingly. The soldier she was treating looked appropriately terrified.

“I’ll just wait out here until you’re done, then.”

Five minutes and one limping soldier later, she came out scrubbing at her hands. “What do you need.”

“Liquor.”

“I’m legally and ethically required to inform you that medical alcohol is not safe for consumption and can make you blind.”

“I mean, I’m halfway there already,” York joked. “Seriously. I need to teach people how to mix drinks with limited supplies, fast.”

“Well, I wish you luck finding a reasonable source of alcohol.”

“I can keep the Reds and Blues away from your infirmary for the next week.”

Her hands stilled where they were still rubbing together. “…Three weeks.”

“Eleven days, plus I’ll get all your scalpels sharpened and sterilized.”

“Meet me behind the motor pool in twenty minutes. Be ready to pick up the scalpels.”

* * *

 

Twenty-one minutes later, York swiped a dolly from the armory and dragged it back to the motor pool so he could carry away a crate full of moonshine, a crate full of juice, and a crate full of scalpels.

 _ <I think that was an enormously successful venture _.>

< _You realize that the likelihood of you actually being able to keep the sim troopers away from the infirmary for the next eleven days is under 42%_. >

< _Yeah... > _

The duckling room was, for once, empty. Sastry and Thakkar were probably off somewhere talking strategy, so he’d get them and Kulkarni in later, and in the meantime call in…

York slowed, not quite halting but not really moving forward, either.

Who would he call in? And why?

Delta started to crunch psychological profiles, but York did the mental equivalent of waving him off with a shushing noise, because this was a bigger issue, wasn’t it.

With Carolina, he had been thinking about how to pull them all into this, get them involved, but the longer he looked at it the more obvious it became that this mission...this was big. This had _ramifications_.

Pull this off, and Chorus would be in the clear and moving towards a stable society. No more running around military bases shooting paintballs at each other and rigging glitter-bombs.

Because Vanessa might have just asked him for this as a temporary measure, in the context of the military, but he’d sent that plan flying out a window himself when he’d asked her to be in charge. The ducklings couldn’t unlearn what he’d taught them. They probably wouldn’t want to.

They… _hopefully_ wouldn’t want to.

York groaned and slumped against the dolly, covering his face with his hands. This had just gotten much more complicated.

He went over and shut the door and had Delta sweep for bugs before settling in on the couch. His hands twitched for something to mess with, and when York checked his pockets, the first thing that his hand came up against was smooth and rectangular, the cool metal clicking under his fingers.

York pulled out the lighter and flicked the cap open, then shut again.

“Begin journal log.”

Delta popped out to give him something to talk to as he played with the lighter and rambled his head out, lining up the situation in concentric circles of thought lines slowly spiraling towards a center.

“…and, and, and I guess…I don’t know what I guess. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He sighed, huffing air out through his nose. “I’m legally dead. Disgraced, kaput, whatever you want to call it, and while most of the world… _probably_ won’t care about another ex-soldier with a shady past, the UNSC will if they find an ex-soldier with a shady past in connection with federal intelligence services. Never really cut out for bureaucracy anyways. I can’t… _stay_.

“But they’re all just, just kids, and they’ve never played in the big frog pond before.” Open. Shut. Open. Shut. Open. “There’s no way in hell I can just leave them to it. I just. Can’t do it as me. Or as a leader, or…” York shuddered. “ _Director_.” The word still left a bad taste in his mouth. “That’s gonna have to be on them.

“And, they’re gonna need to practice sometime. I don’t…this _can’t_ fail.” He snapped the lighter shut, and clenched his hand around it in a desperate grab for stability. “It _can’t_ .” He sighed, loosening his grip. “And if they think I’m grooming them, or setting them up for something, they’re gonna…it’s not gonna go well. But I can’t tell them.” He snorted. “Well, they’ll just have to start sucking it up. It’s…I’ll let this be _their_ play.”

“I do not think Carolina would be pleased if she knew you were entrusting this mission to someone else’s plan.”

“Not _totally_. But baby steps, D. Throw them in the deep part of the river and let ‘em practice swimming.”

“Those are two opposing metaphors.”

“It’ll make sense. Just watch.” He flicked the lighter open, and started fiddling with the busted ignition. “And I’ll start by letting Sastry call the grifters.”

“Are you sure?”

“She knows these kids better than I do. And she’ll have to do it more in the future. Thakkar’s got a good head on their shoulders, but they can’t make nice to save their life.” He shook his head. “Nah. It’ll be her. Good jack-of-all-trades, solid on info and strategy, knows when to lie and when to come clean to get what she wants…yeah. She’ll do just fine in charge.”

“And you?”

“Oh, you know me, D. Always worked better as second-best. People aren’t watching too closely then.”

* * *

 

Sastry and Thakkar came back with matching scowls but a thick red line drawn on the holographic plans he’d sent them off with.

York spun it around to study it, letting them both sweat for a moment, before nodding with satisfaction.

“Nicely done.”

Thakkar’s face flashed with triumphant satisfaction, and Sastry’s chin raised, just a fraction.

“Now. Onto the next thing.” He squashed the file between his palms, and pulled out the paper map of Keddersville he’d retrieved for just this purpose. Delta was cranky about that, even if he acknowledged the necessity. “And this time we’re going directly to real-world applications, so be sure to think carefully.”

Thakkar frowned as they bent over the map. Sastry gave it a long, slow look before bringing her eyes back up to fix on York’s.

“This isn’t training anymore, is it.”

Thakkar didn’t look away from the map, but York could see their shoulders tense.

“No.”

He was ready for some kind of protests, at the very least questions, but she just nodded and set to studying the map with a deadly seriousness.

York was reminded, all over again, of exactly what circumstances had brought these kids to here, with him, and a small lump of panic bubbled up in his throat.

Delta helped squash it down, and York moved on, pulled a handful of tokens out of his pockets. “Sastry. Name at least five of the others that you trust to go undercover.”

* * *

 

It took two days for Thakkar and Sastry to come up with a solid deployment and assignment plan for the majority of the ducklings, another twelve hours for Kulkarni to get the information network set up with in a way both he and Delta were satisfied with, and another thirty-six hours to get everyone in place.

York had Wilkinson and Alcala in charge of planting the news that York was dragging the ducklings out on some kind of training exercise in the woods—subtly enough that it shouldn’t become a topic of gossip until after they were gone. The rest were busy with preparing in other ways.

Throughout the week, York found himself too busy to do much, but made sure to drop in on Vanessa at least once a day, whether it was with an update or a request for supplies or just to bring her coffee and make sure she stopped organizing the government rebuild long enough to drink it.

Every time, he caught himself staring, just a little too long, trying to put his head together.

Knowing he loved Carolina had never really been an issue. He had known before they’d even met properly, when she had still been the mysterious woman he had met at a club and he couldn’t get her out of his head.

This was…different. He’d figured that it had just been so long since he had been part of a team, under a leader, that he was conflating things in his head. Projecting how he had felt then, under Carolina, onto Vanessa.

Okay, maybe the way he had been so ready to think of her as someone he was already close to hadn’t helped.

And then she was just…easy. Easy to trust, easy to listen to, easy to talk to. She had never once given him reason to think she would hurt him, and that was rare enough to really _mean_ something.

So somewhere along the line, she had just…become easy to love. He wanted to do things for her, make her laugh and let her relax against his side and bring her coffee and the heads of her enemies.

Vanessa glanced up from the mug of coffee and squinted at him. “What?”

“What what?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Decapitating pirates.”

She choked on the coffee, covering up her mouth as a laugh sputtered its way out. York grinned brightly. Delta sighed.

She set down her cup, still red in a way that brought out her freckles. “Sounds a little messy.”

York just shrugged and grinned brighter.

* * *

 

Finally, all the pieces landed in place, or close enough to place that they could be pounded in.

York had never had the patience for jigsaw puzzles anyways.

He waited for Kulkarni, who was bent over Wilkinson’s computer, headphones in, to nod, before slipping out the back door of the apartment complex they’d borrowed.

Carolina was waiting at the foot of the building, this time around in a leather jacket and poncho, because Chorus’ rainy season had no intent of taking a break while they ran their operations.

York had his own poncho. It was a ghastly shade of pink provided by Donut and he loved it. Carolina had sighed.

“You’re _supposed_ to be inconspicuous,” she pointed out as he slipped out the door, moving close to his ear to be heard over the rain.

“And I will be as soon as I take this off,” York said, confidently.

Her response was lost, but he could feel her shoulder brush against his and stay there all the way down the street to the first bar on their list.

* * *

 

Shaikh was behind the bar, but York and Carolina snagged a table instead, splitting a juice made from Chorus’ indigenous fruit and a bowl of some unidentified crunchy things.

The crowd shifted slowly, people reluctant to bar-hop on such a miserable wet night, but it did shift, until the bar was humming and rattling with voices about the roar of the rain.

Time to go.

York left the pink poncho hanging off the table’s hook, and wandered off to the bathroom. Once he was out of sight, he pulled on a dark blue one and walked out through the front door. Carolina caught up with him down the street.

“See?” he told her during a lull in the rain. “Inconspicuous!”

“I kind of miss the pink,” she admitted.

They popped in and out of three more bars, keeping eyes on the ducklings—not because York didn’t trust them, he just wanted to see how they were coming along.

By the end of the night, the sensors Carolina had been planting at the doors were pouring in a steady stream of information about when and where the people were moving. The ducklings, in their own ways, were keeping track of the who.

Which meant that the next night, it was time to get to work.

York stayed on the comms as Carolina crept around the corners of the base they’d robbed last time, long enough to figure out that the pirates had moved on.

Carolina came back and stalked around the apartment muttering and irritable, arguing with Epsilon and making the ducklings twitchy. York had to ask her to go run patrol to make sure no one had followed any of the ducklings back to the apartment and wait for her to leave before he could reassure them that no, it was fine, yes, they really had done a good job.

“We’re gathering information on a group of strangers in a completely new environment. This is going to be a long game. Frankly, if we had gotten any important information tonight, I would be very worried right now, because it would indicate that we’ve been compromised, they know we’re here, and they’re trying to bait us.” York swept his gaze around the room, trying to make eye contact with as many of them as possible. “This is the long, slow, boring part. Boring is good. Boring means we’re doing this _right_ because they don’t know we’re here. Eat some food, get some sleep, take a shower if you need one and be ready to do this again tomorrow. You’re doing fine. Tails, we’re going to give it one more day to nail down the patterns, and then you lot are on deck to start following likely suspects. Be ready. Don’t attract attention. You’re doing just fine.”

They trickled out little by little, breaking into small groups to talk and trade information. Ashraf and Wilkinson huddled around the computer setup, muttering to each other.

 _ <What’s Ashraf on? _> York asked Delta, trying to remember.

_ <I believe she is waiting on assignment to tail one of the pirates.> _

_ <Well, not anymore. _> “Ashraf.”

She looked up from the computer, braid falling over her shoulder.

“Come back here after you’ve had some sleep. I’ve got financial records for you to dig through.”

Wilkinson smirked and pushed her glasses further up on her nose before going back to typing. Ashraf looked oddly intrigued.

“Sleep first,” York told her, because he didn’t need to deal with people passing out from exhaustion on him.

“But I’m not tired.”

“You will be after you start reading. Wilkinson, you backed up?”

“Yup.”

“Then go on, get out of here.” He flapped his hands at them. “Go…sleep. Do things. One of the two.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man.” Wilkinson shut the laptop and was out of the room before he could respond. Ashraf followed with a wave.

York stood alone in the empty living room, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed before settling in on the couch to watch over the computers.

He’d given them all the talk, about information and being compromised and the worst possible outcome. He hadn’t needed Delta’s help to remember—--the words had been burned into his brain for years.

In the end, only the last three mattered, anyways. _Don’t get caught_.

They probably hadn’t needed to hear that, but he had to make himself say it. Had to remember what the stakes were.

York thumped his head slowly against the back of the couch and then went back to staring at the computers.

* * *

 

Carolina rapped out a pattern against the door before entering, hoping to avoid an ambush from an overzealous duckling. This was their first real field assignment—they were bound to be tense, on-edge.

But the room was empty, aside from the humming piles of equipment and York slumped on the sofa.

Carolina’s heart stuttered for an instant at the sight of him lying very still, before Epsilon dumped his vitals, fresh from Delta, into her head.

 _He’s fine. He’s fine. Just asleep_.

She crossed over to the sofa and bent down in front of him, touching one hand very cautiously to his knee and darting back with he sat straight up, knife in hand.

“Easy. It’s just me.”

He tucked the knife away and groaned, rubbing his face. “Delta, why…” He trailed off to listen to the other side of some unheard conversation. “I did _not_.”

“If it’s about sleep, yes, you did,” Carolina said, dryly. “You don’t usually fall asleep in the open.”

“I’m not usually being betrayed by the voice in my head that’s figured out how to access my hormone systems,” York muttered, uncharacteristically irate.

Carolina sighed, before settling in next to him on the couch. “I’ll keep an eye out. Get some more sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“You won’t be in twelve hours,” she said, keeping her voice mild so she wouldn’t set him off. “And I can’t corral your agents for you.”

York’s hand froze as it ran through his hair before it slid down over his face. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I—nothing. I’ll be fine, you know I’ve run on stimulants before, I—” he sat up and scrabbled for a datapad. “I need to plan.”

“You’ve been planning for a week now,” Carolina pointed out, sharply.

He mumbled something indecipherable and bent further over the datapad.

Carolina glared at him before something occurred to her.

Her armor was behind the couch, so she didn’t have to go far to retrieve her helmet, key in a number, and set it on the table before Vanessa picked up.

 _“Carolina?”_ She sounded worried, but not sleepy; good. York didn’t look up from the datapad.

“Vanessa,” Carolina said, letting the name roll around her tongue and watched York’s head twitch up.  “Just checking in.”

“ _You—oh_ . _Did York tell you he sent a report?”_

“I thought it would be good to check in in person. And to get your help with something.”

“ _Of course, anything.”_ Carolina’s breath caught at how easily those words fell out.

“Well, really I need two things,” she said, considering. “I need you to tell York to go to sleep, and then I need _you_ to hang up and go to sleep.”

There was a pause before she asked, “ _York?_ ”

“Hi, Vanessa. You’re on speaker.” York gave Carolina a silent, baleful look, belying his pleasant tone. She raised one eyebrow at him.

“ _York, why are you still up_?”

“Just…keeping an eye on things. Besides, _you’re_ still up.”

“ _Well, I—I’m not in the field.”_

“You’re not telling Carolina to go to sleep.”

“Carolina has all day tomorrow to sleep,” Carolina pointed out, dryly. “I can keep an eye out. If you would, Vanessa, please?”

There was a drawn breath on the other end of the line, so soft Carolina might have imagined it. “ _York, get some sleep. Please.”_

York groaned and smushed his face against the datapad. “Fine. _Fine_. But only if you go sleep, too.”

“ _That…was one of the conditions_ .” A jaw-cracking yawn came over the line that almost made Carolina yawn before she caught herself. York didn’t quite manage, setting the datapad down as he stretched. “ _Alright. I’ll talk with you again tomorrow. At…an earlier hour._ ”

“Sounds like a plan.” Carolina reached for her helmet, and before ending the call, said, “Good night, Vanessa. Sleep well.”

“Love you,” York mumbled, from where he was making himself comfortable. Carolina quickly closed the connection, staring at him.

He must have been more tired than she realized. His eyes were already sliding shut.

Well, then.

Carolina patted York’s legs, shifted to the other end of the couch so she wouldn’t be tempted to fall asleep against him, and opened up a stack of reports to keep herself busy until morning.

* * *

 

On the other end of the line, Vanessa stared at the call window on her HUD as it closed herself.

_That…I…did he…_

She gave herself a little shake. There were two explanations—either she was tired enough that she was imagining things, or York hadn’t realized the call was still going.

Either way, she needed to go to bed. And to tamp down that irritating spark of warmth already conjuring up a potential third option.

* * *

 

The days fell into a routine that York hadn’t lived through since his very early days in ONI, where he had been unlucky enough to get dumped on the same kind of scut work intelligence gathering projects. He remembered it being long and dull, full of takeout and energy drinks and combing through data till his eyes went numb, perfecting how to follow someone on a street and catch who they talked to, where they went.

Being in charge of an operation, responsible for the whereabouts and efficiency of fifteen other people, knowing that any second something could happen that he hadn’t anticipated and spell danger and potentially death for any one of them—that was not dull. It was nerve-wracking, and terrifying, and Delta had started messing with his melatonin levels in a way that the AI had refused to do while they were on the run unless it was literally life or death.

Both of them were paralyzed by the thought of screwing up.

Carolina tried to help, but she couldn’t hide that she felt like they were moving too slow, like they needed to do something real besides sit around and eavesdrop and plan. Her twitchiness leaked out every minute she sat around the apartment, every time they shared another low-alcohol drink in a bar.

Vanessa never pressed for information when they called her—she at least seemed to understand that something done right took time—but he could hear the stress in her voice increase every day the blockade lasted. Every day without proof. Chorus was still trapped.

But slowly, ever so slowly, evidence built. They’d nailed down the routines of the pirates, their habits and patterns, because apparently they were also bored out of their skulls. According to a conversation picked up by one of Starks’ devices, monitored by Alcala, orders had come down the chain for them to lie low.

When the conversation topic came up days later, the pirate all of them had started calling “Morty” started rambling about something big coming down the pipeline “cause we’ve got enough time with the brassies blocking the planet.”

Where they were listening to the recording together, York could see Sastry’s hand curl into a silent fist at her side. She glanced at him, as if for confirmation, and he nodded.

That. They could _use_ that.

* * *

 

“Target 17 has left the bar,” Mohamed murmured into his headset. “Routine indicates he’s heading back to base. I’ll follow from above.”

“ _Got it, Kasib._ ” Sastry’s voice came over the headset more crackly than usual. There was another storm rolling in, charging the air. “ _Check in on arrival.”_

“That’s new.”

_“Old man’s twitchy.”_

“Alright, then.” Mohamed slid out into the streets, blending into the dark and pouring rain, following after his target.

* * *

 

Carolina came back to their temporary base to find it full of noise, Wilkinson shouting coordinates with her glasses halfway up her forehead while Thakkar and York pored over maps and Sastry bent over the comms with a tight, fierce face.

“What happened?”

“Mohamed.” York jammed a hand through his hair, face unreadable in a way that indicated deep panic. “He was tailing 17 and didn’t check in.”

“He’s gone way off route, Sastry can’t raise him,” Thakkar said, finger running down a street map. “Wilkinson, was that _Imal_ or _Himmal_?”

“ _Himmal_ , with an H, like hotel.”

“Alright, that’s the abandoned sector.”

“No other movements reported in that area. Ever.”

“I still can’t raise him!”

Wilkinson swore, violently. “Just went dead. We’ve lost tracking.”

Carolina could feel her blood starting to rise. Finally, after days of just _sitting around_ , this was _something_.

“Last known location?” she demanded, already moving towards her armor.

“Himmal and—”

“Wait.” York’s voice cut through the room. “Carolina, stop.”

“What?” Thakkar jerked his head up. “Why? Isn’t this what she’s here for?”

“We—” York ran both hands through his hair, fingers shaking. “We have to be careful about this. Right now, wherever Mohamed is, whoever he’s with has no proof that we’re involved. That he’s not alone. He’s—he knows how to be quiet. If there isn’t enough evidence, if 17 isn’t alone, we could—compromise. All of this.”

Carolina stopped with her hands on her helmet, weighing his words. Epsilon was starting to boot up after noticing her rising adrenaline.

She couldn’t rush into this, she wasn’t—

“No.”

The single word sliced through the air of the room as Sastry moved away from the comms, her blue streak falling in her face. “No. _Fuck_ that.”

She walked right up to York and looked him dead in the eye. “He’s our friend. He’s our _team_ . We _trust_ him. We need to get him back. Either help us or _get out of the way._ ”

Carolina forgot how to breathe for a few seconds.

While she was working on that, York looked up, met her gaze, and then looked back at Sastry.

He pulled his hands out of his hair, took a deep breath, and then said, “Call Bowers back in. Leave the rest where they are. Wilkinson, you’re on comms—you two, grab your armor.”

Wilkinson nodded, shoving her glasses all the way up onto her head and bending closer to her screen.

Carolina moved towards the door, suddenly desperate to be in motion.

* * *

 

Vanessa was bent over her paperwork, as usual, trying to make the dancing lines of text fall into place for…for…

She closed her eyes and rubbed at them, then opened them again to read the top of the page.

Right. Committee for free and open elections.  

Usually, the letters refusing to stay still on the page was the sign that she needed to go to sleep, because no more work would be happening tonight. Tonight, though, she was more reluctant than usual to walk away.

A worry made her stomach clench, and she quickly snatched up her helmet to check.

No new messages, no missed transmissions.

Vanessa closed her eyes again and breathed deeply. It was late. York and Carolina were entirely capable of handling themselves. There was probably just nothing to report. She should—

An incoming call registered and Vanessa hit _accept_ immediately.

“ _General_ .” York’s voice was tight. “ _We’ve had some…unanticipated events_.”

Vanessa was instantly awake. “Explain.”

_“One of the pirates caught on to his tail. We got lucky, he improvised and opted to capture and interrogate rather than inform his friends. Then we got luckier and captured him back.”_

“What’s your plan?”

“ _…Well. That’s why I’m calling.”_

Vanessa slowly leaned back in her chair. “Go on.”

“ _Option one, take him out. Don’t bother asking questions, don’t let him know anything, get rid of the body and plant evidence that made it look like he ran. Continue undercover operations since something like that will mean they either lock down or things get rattled. Option two, interrogation. Cut a deal. Convince him he’d do better with us. Ideally, he testifies against, or at least provides better information. If not, we’re out of luck and then it’s back to option one.”_

“Your thoughts?”

A long pause, and then he said, “ _Honestly?_ _I want him dead. I_ really _do.”_

There was something very dark in his voice. Vanessa could sympathize, badly. But…

“No.” She couldn’t budge on this. They _needed_ it. “Interrogate him. Outline whatever deals you and Carolina think are reasonable, and bring them to me before you make the final offer. No matter what time.”

“ _Understood._ ”

“And—I mean this—do _not_ dispose of him. Even if he’s uncooperative, even if you’re angry—no unfortunate accidents. I want him brought in _alive_. The only reason I should be getting a call saying that he’s dead is if it was literally life-or-death for one of your team, and I trust that you and Carolina are good enough not to let it get that far.”

A very long pause, and then, “ _Understood. I’ll keep you updated_.”

He hung up without so much as a ‘goodbye’ and Vanessa tried not to feel like she’d been slapped.

She took a deep breath and started to sort her paperwork, making sure it would be ready when she came back in the morning. She was being ridiculous. She was their _superior officer_. It would be—ridiculous, to think that—

Of course it would never be anything else beyond a professional relationship. Vanessa was the only one who had ever been stupid enough to think it might.

* * *

 

York let Delta cut the connection, his mind already spinning, spinning, spinning, because it had been a _damn_ long time since he’d had to pump someone for information when they knew that was exactly what he was doing.

He felt a little bit better, having that surety to fall back on, that firm _no_ to lean against, but it did make his life harder.

He took another long look at the security feed set up to their improvised interrogation room—some interior closet a few buildings over. The pirate had woken up, and was shifting around in his bonds.

York still wanted him dead.

Sastry came in from the kitchen, which was the cleanest room in the apartment and therefore the makeshift infirmary, favoring her left side.

“Kasib’s going to be okay. Broken nose, ton of bruising on his middle, but Kulkarni says there’s no broken ribs.”

“Good,” York answered absentmindedly, still trying to figure out a script. What was there to offer? _Could_ he offer anything?

“Are you going to torture him?”

York shook his head. “No, torture’s unreliable.”

“Really?”

“At some point, people will just say anything to get the pain to stop. Sometimes you get lucky. Most of the time you don’t.”

There was a bitter curl to Sastry’s mouth. “Felix used to say torture was the only reliable way.”

York didn’t know how to respond to that, so he settled for telling her to grab her helmet.

* * *

 

Carolina was standing outside the door of the closet, leaning against the wall in that deliberately relaxed stance that betrayed none of the coiled tension York knew she was holding.

“Situation?”

“Contained. Your end?”

“No killing. See if we can get him to turn witness, lock him down him if we can’t.”

She nodded. “Going in?”

York ran his eye over the feed-screen set up on this side of the door. “…Not yet.” He looked over his shoulder. “Sastry? You’re up.”

She looked from the feed, back to York. “What…what do I do?”

“Well, I’d pull the gag out first.” York moved to run a hand through his hair and ended up whacking his helmet. “Then…get him to believe you. Don’t make any promises you know you can’t keep. Make it clear he’s on his own here, and what his options are.”

“What _are_ his options?”

“Cooperate with us or don’t. Leave that one dangling. And don’t hurt him. If he’s willing to listen, it’ll keep him that way, and if not, it’ll wind him up thinking something’s coming.”

He couldn’t see what Sastry did behind her helmet, but she turned and walked into the room anyways.

York leaned against the wall next to Carolina, and they watched the screen together.

“You sure—”

“She’ll be fine.”

_ <Odds that she will be able to coerce a successful confession are less than 20%.> _

_ <I know, D. She’ll be fine. She needs the practice.> _

Sastry strode into the room and yanked the pirate’s gag out with one tug before turning her back and walking to lean against the far wall, leaning lazily against it and pulling out a knife to flip.

“She’s got good presence.”

“Liiiitle overkill,” Epsilon chimed in, popping up to watch.

“Shh.”

“So,” the pirate said, breathing heavily. “This is the part where you torture me for information.”

Sastry caught the knife and paused, tilting her head. “If you want,” she said, casually, before going back to tossing it.

“Nice,” Epsilon said, before she fumbled her next catch and the knife fell to the ground. “Oooh, bad play.”

“ _Shh._ ”

To her credit, Sastry let the knife stay where it was, crossing her arms instead. “Or we could talk.”

The pirate snorted. “Yeah, right sweetie.”

“Suit yourself.” She bent to pick up the knife. “But you’re useless to me then.”

She turned to leave, and the pirate blurted out “Whoa, wait, hang on—just like that?”

“You’re not gonna talk, you’re not gonna talk,” she said, managing to sound bored. “Not my job to get rid of you.”

York could see the pirate sweating at that. “Well. I mean—come on, isn’t that a little hasty?”

Sastry turned back around. “I don’t know, is it?” She leaned forward. “I mean it, you know. My job’s just to ask the questions.” She flipped the knife around in her hand until it was poised to stab. “But, I mean—you _did_ hurt my friend.”

The pirate grinned, slow and mean. “Oh. I hurt your _friend_.”

“Oooooooooh,” Epsilon hissed. “That’s not good.”

York could see Sastry freeze, just for a second. “You’re awfully cocky for a guy with no one coming for him.”

The pirate snickered. “Trust me, sweetie, this is above your pay grade.”

The knife flashed out, point under his chin. “Call me sweetie one. More. Time.”

“Thought it wasn’t your job to get rid of me,” the pirate choked out. “ _Sweetie_.”

York was moving for the door before the pirate was halfway done talking, and Delta was opening a secure channel to Sastry’s headset. “Sastry. You’re done, leave. _Now_.”

She held very still for five seconds before turning around and stalking away.

York grabbed one of the spare chairs in the room and spun it around so it faced him before draping himself over it, leaning on the back.

“Sorry about that. Newbies. You know how it is.”

The pirate smirked at him. “So _this_ is the part where you torture me for information.”

York tipped his head back and sighed. “Mmm. No. This is the part where you consider your options very, very carefully.”

The pirate sat up a little more at that, eying the carefully maintained distance. “Whoa. That’d be unprofessional. You _need_ me.”

“Do I?” York tipped his head back forward, staring the pirate down. “That worth betting your life on?”

A cautious sneer. “You got a kid who’s here to make _friends_ in to talk to me. You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel here.”

“Well, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you.” Delta fished up the relevant files for him, the ones he and Epsilon had put together while Sastry was making her attempt. “Flynt Coal. Small time merc turned smaller time arms dealer, and yet here you are, back in the trade and it turns out you were hired only because you filled out the group and it was cheaper by the dozen.”

“Hey now, what—”

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you it’s rude to interrupt? You haven’t exactly made friends for yourself since that mess on Orion, no sirree, no surprise you would jump at the chance to jump ship and end up all alone on this backwater. You’ve got no friends, your connections are falling apart, and a word to the wise—your boss isn’t too steady either.”

“Edgar owes me—”

“But not as much as he owes in gambling debts, huh?” Ashraf had done a _very_ good job with the financial records. “You must have wondered…how long before he drops you off with no backup and just takes your share?” York shifted the chair, leaning closer. “You know how long you’ve been missing?”

Coal stayed silent.

“And yet they still aren’t looking for you. Pretty unprofessional, I’d say.” York sucked on his teeth.

“You wouldn’t be in here if you didn’t want something,” he muttered. “Just spit it out.”

York flashed a grin that got lost in his helmet. “Oh, what would you say to the low, low price of…testimony against your boss?”

“Who the hell chases a man all the way here for gambling debts?”

“Oh, pardon me. Your _boss’_ boss.”

Coal’s mouth shut, abruptly.

“I see you know who I mean.” York settled in for the long haul. “Let’s talk.”

* * *

 

Carolina was standing outside the closet with Sastry when York finished his discussion and strolled casually out.

As soon as the door closed he collapsed against the wall, pulled off his helmet, and held it so tightly his arms trembled.

“Well,” his voice shook with something Carolina couldn’t name. “That’s one way to do it.”

He looked up and locked eyes with Sastry, who was holding herself tensely enough to snap. “He was never going to take the first person who talked to him seriously. I didn’t know if you could commit if you knew that.” He broke eye contact and stared back down at his helmet. “For what it’s worth—you did do well. You had him there, for a bit.”

Somewhere in the spaces between his words, there was almost an apology.

“Now what?” Somewhere in the spaces between Sastry’s words, there was almost an acknowledgement.

“Now?” York rolled to his feet. “Now we have a witness. Which means now we have to feed him. Then we take the information and use it to break the rest of their network. Rip as much as we can from the rubble.” He settled his helmet back on and gestured down the hallway. “Lead on. Cee, you okay to stay for a bit longer?”

“Fine. Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah, just let me—”

She waited while he sent Sastry on before he turned back to her. “What is it?”

Carolina didn’t really know what to say. She tried, for a minute, to put together some semblance of words, and eventually had to settle for reaching out one hand, settling it on his shoulder, and squeezing.

York reached up to rest his hand over hers and squeeze back.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

He turned and walked away, and Carolina took up her post again, watching the feed to make sure their prisoner wouldn’t escape.

Not on her watch.

* * *

 

Four more days.

York wasn’t sure how many hours of sleep he’d gotten over the course of it, and he was a little afraid to ask Delta, but that didn’t matter because it took four more days and they _had_ it.

He was currently nose-deep in the ducklings’ reports, taking stock.

They had three more pirates willing to act as witness, were set up to capture and bargain with or eliminate the rest, solid financial records tying payments from Hargrove’s accounts—which should have been frozen, given the current investigation—to the planet. They had the names of the generals in Hargrove’s pocket, and enough proof to make them—

 _ <Carolina is calling. _>

< _Open up._ >

—turn over and beg. They could actually—

“ _I’ve got a surprise for you.”_

“Aw, for me? You shouldn’t have,” York responded on automatic, more focused on flipping to the next report. “Is it peanuts? I’d love a peanut right now.” He should see if Mohamed could compile the highlights for him. Make it easier to—

“ _Not a peanut.”_ She sounded amused. _“A pirate.”_

“I thought you were tailing the leader today?”

“ _I was._ ”

York paused, “Carolina.”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Did you get me a pirate leader as a present?”

“ _I did indeed._ ”

“I love you.”

“ _Love you too. Now get over here and do your talking his ear off so we can_ leave _already.”_

York was already halfway out the door.

* * *

 

“I don’t see why you’re making this so difficult.” York’s voice sounded entirely reasonable and polite, but Carolina knew it was the tone he used when he wanted to hide being frustrated.

The pirate grunted, looking away.

“Look, it’s very simple.” York spread his hands out over the table they were using—a more traditional interrogation setting, this time—and lifted one up in the air. “Either you record a testimony that pins most of the blame on Hargrove, or at least enough that you can walk away—” His other hand lowered, and then turned to face the table palm-down. “Or refuse, and…well, rot in a jungle hole for the rest of your miserable life. Which, considering how _many_ people on this planet would be angry if they found out you exist—probably not very wrong.”

“You’re not going to win,” the pirate said, sounding bored. “You’re facing off against a giant corporation that’s bought off the military. The government couldn’t give a crap about the colony planets now that the war’s over.”

“Oh, so those are the options you want to look at.” York settled his hands together as the pirate’s eyes rolled. “Fine. Let’s say, for the sake of argument—you’re right. We lose. You _somehow_ manage to break out and help finish committing genocide—which, not great on your resume, just saying—and then, what.” His tone turned unimpressed. “You take your money and go?”

Carolina could hear Wash’s voice in her head as the pirate looked away. “ _Well when you say it like_ that, _it sounds stupid.”_ Epsilon snickered and replayed the memory in full Technicolor.

“Come on,” York sighed, leaning forward. “You’re supposed to be good at this. You really thought you could just waltz off and retire?”

“Reputation is important,” the pirate said, but Carolina could see the cracks. “Har—our employer wouldn’t risk his.”

“Seriously? You have to know you’re not exactly the cream of the crop,” York said, leaning back. “That thing on Saints Isle? You wanna talk reputation, that _tanked_ yours. You got hired because the big man on the little ship is desperate. This planet chewed up the first round of enemies and didn’t bother spitting them back out. I’m sure you heard how your predecessors never made it off.”

Epsilon flickered with anger. Carolina shushed him.

“We lose—you lose too. You can cut your losses now, and hope to get off this particular mudball before you die, or you can hold out and die here.”

“You’re not making a real compelling offer here.”

“Is it more compelling than ‘certain death’?”

The answer was, apparently, yes.

York wasn’t shaking when he walked out this time, though he still collapsed back against the wall, raising one arm in victory.

“It’s done! Is it done? Can we go now? Please say we can go now.” The tilt of his helmet was entreating.

“Why are you asking me? It’s your mission.” Carolina couldn’t stop a fond smile from curling against her lip.

“Right, right. We should probably call—” He jerked upright. “Vanessa! I didn’t—I haven’t—”

“Calm down. I’ve been keeping her updated while you handle everything.”

He groaned, covering his face. “It’s been four days and I’m an idiot.”

“True.”

“Which _part_?”

* * *

 

Tucker came by Vanessa’s office not long before she had been planning to stop for lunch anyways, so she let herself be cajoled into joining him in the mess hall.

She hadn’t done that in a while—probably there were going to be quite a few people who would come up to her, wanting her to promise them this or help with that. Her own fault for leaving it so long, really.

She chatted with Tucker all the way out to the mess hall and through the line about his son, a topic on which Tucker could apparently expound forever. He had just finished detailing Junior’s most recent basketball season when they got their food.

“He sounds wonderful,” Vanessa told him, meaning it genuinely. She hadn’t really thought of Tucker as a father, but she supposed it was like looking at one of those pictures that was maybe a vase and maybe a pair of faces. It was there if you knew where to look. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

Tucker stopped talking at that, and when she looked back, he was surprised. “Uh, meet him?”

“Oh, I thought…” she gripped her tray a bit tighter. “You said you wanted to stay, and I assumed you’d want to—have him visit…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No!” he blurted out. “No, shit, yeah, that’d be awesome, I just—” Tucker shrugged. “It’s kind of weird, with the Sangheili after the war. I didn’t want—I mean, my kid is fucking awesome, but some people can just be dicks, y’know? Wait, not you, I meant— _fuck_. Where’s the table?”

Vanessa smothered down a laugh as he pushed around her, leading the way to a corner table where the rest of the Reds and Blues had already queued up.

“Junior would be more than welcome,” she told him as she set down her tray at the open seat next to Simmons, after trading nods. “Not just by me. Chorus was never really...invested in the war. In fact, I’ve been meaning to reach out to the Sangheili and see if they would want to see some of the sites we have, anything they could tell us would be—”

“No shop talk at the table,” Grif grumbled, from Simmons’ other side. “Geez, show your food some respect.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Vanessa looked down at her meal.

“Anyway, good to know. I’m totally going to tell him to call you Aunty Kimball.”

Vanessa choked on the green mash. “You _what_?”

She never got a solid answer because Donut immediately demanded to know if the rest of them would receive the same privilege, and the conversation devolved into an apparently long-standing argument about blood-drinking and vampire bats that Vanessa could only follow with some bemusement.

She looked up at one point to see someone approaching the table, and sighed before setting her fork down. It had been nice, for once, eating without interruptions.

When she looked again, though, Wash had pulled out a rather large knife and started cleaning his nails and Sarge was grinning at the approaching soldier in a terrifying way.

The soldier made an about-face and walked away from the table.

Vanessa squinted at Wash and Sarge, who were exchanging satisfied nods, but before she could question them her helmet’s comm started going off in a familiar pattern.

She was on her feet and grabbing for her helmet automatically, and half the table looked at her in concern.

“I have to take this, I’m sorry—thank you for the invitation—” she almost tripped over her own feet getting away, because it was too early for the check-in, something had to be wrong—

“Kimball here,” she said, even though she knew who it was.

“ _We got it_.”

All the breath rushed out of her in sheer _relief_. “You got it?”

“ _Solid evidence._ ” York’s voice was incredibly satisfied. “ _Sorry I haven’t called, I’ve been really busy—_ ”

“Carolina mentioned. It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re—that you’ve got a solid lead.” She clamped down on the “ _you’re safe_ ” before it could slip out.

“ _More than a solid lead. We’ve got testimony from the_ captain _now. We’re set. There’s probably some compilation to do, to put together a strong enough case to lock down the UNSC, but we can do that back at base.”_

Back at base. They were coming _back_.

They’d done it.

Vanessa bit down on  the laugh, of all things, threatening to bubble up in her chest. They’d done it.

Now all they had to do was blackmail the largest and most powerful military organization in the galaxy. There was no way that could end badly.

“That’s—I—” She shook her head to put her thoughts back in order. “Congratulations, York. You, and Carolina, and all of your team. Well done. Do you need any assistance moving everything back to base?”

“ _Prisoner transport would be helpful, but I don’t think you have anything better than the Warthogs available._ ”

“We do not. How many cells do you need prepared?”

“ _I can send the details through Irene, streamline the process. Don’t worry about it.”_

“Right, of course. You—I’ll let you get to working on closing the operation.” It was easy to squash down the desire to just talk to him, listen to his voice and make _sure_ he was alright when she hadn’t heard from him for four days, by thinking about how the sooner York went to work, the sooner he and Carolina could come back. And also that she had no right to think about him like that or expect that of him. _Agh_.

“ _Yeah, I’ll get on that…in a minute, I just wanted to—you’ve been eating, right?”_ He sounded unsure, suddenly, for no reason at all that she can parse.

“Yes, I’ve been eating—I was actually having lunch with the Reds and Blues when you called.”

“ _Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll let you get back—enjoy your lunch, we’ll call tonight with an update, bye!”_

He hung up before she could say goodbye.

Vanessa went to sit back down, already starting to plan for the consolidation of the data, the best way to address the council of generals. She had to get Gowda in on this, of course—maybe try to reconnect with Santa, look into raising the planetary shield, retaliation could be an ugly thing.

Or, what they really needed…

“Tucker,” she said, slowly, dragging her fork through the blue crunchy bits on her tray. “You said Junior was working with the diplomatic corps?”

“Fuck yeah he is—what was that call about?”

“York and Carolina are coming back, but I just—could you get in touch with him?” She tapped her fork against her plate, contemplatively. “If we can just open up talks with them, it’ll give us some leverage in dealing with the UNSC.”

“No shof kack ah fuh fahle,” Grif said, around a mouthful of food.

“ _Chew_ your _food_ , Grif, _honestly_ —”

“Alright, alright, fine!” Tucker raised one hand. “So, York and Carolina, huh?” He grinned at her.

Vanessa paused with the fork halfway to her mouth. “How are they not shop talk?”

Further down the table, Donut buried his face in his hands and Doc patted him on the back. Vanessa hoped he was okay.

* * *

 

Once Carolina and York and the squad returned, everything seemed to spring into motion.

The base was a hive of activity again, after it had almost felt like things were settling down. People were moving out faster than ever, and now they were starting to move back _in_ , consolidating and reshuffling supplies.

York was busier than ever, trying to put his ducklings together into some semblance of organization. He’d told Carolina on one of their late-night calls that it was hard to get them all to settle down and stay sharp, because the hope was thick enough in the air to taste.

Delta had chimed in on the call claiming emotion had no taste, and Epsilon had fired back and Carolina had said goodnight in the interest of not enabling _another_ late-night AI argument via comms call.

That was really the only way she and York were talking these days, since Carolina was busy dragging Epsilon, Tucker, and Caboose around to the various temples on Chorus to talk to Santa.

With the pirates out of the way, they could actually dig into the workings of the alien technology and try and secure it in a way that would allow Chorus and its inhabitants to actually make use of it. Unfortunately some of the temples, once activated, would put out radiation actively harmful to humans, so first they had to manually check every site so Santa could take fresh biometric readings and assess damage and make sure no one was going to die because the Temple of Bountiful Harvest tried sending out gamma rays or something of the sort.

It was a long and arduous process that involved communication passing from Carolina and Wash, who actually had the orders, through Epsilon who could program the code, through Tucker, who had the activation, and then through Caboose, who tried to explain it all to Santa. There may have been a few snags.

Carolina had learned to treasure her nightly calls, if only because they got her out of camp.

Tonight, York had sent her a message about calling later, so she had tried Vanessa first.

Vanessa was harder to pin down at nights, even though she was _supposed_ to be sharing her workload more with General Gowda these days. Still, York had promised he was keeping an eye on her, and Carolina was managing to talk to her two out of three days.

She had also managed to make York promise that he wouldn’t try anything kissing-wise until she was back and they could do it together.

(“I want to be able to make sure she knows we’re both a part of this,” she’d told him, and squashed down on the tiny fear cropping up that maybe, just maybe, once the two of them had each other they wouldn’t need her anymore.)

Vanessa had picked up on the second ring, immediately and almost absent-mindedly launching into a drafted speech about upcoming nominations and the process for which people could apply. Carolina smiled quietly, and leaned back into a tree to listen.

“ _…and those can be found on page forty—ugh, nevermind, no._ ” The sound of crumpling paper. “ _It needs to be more straightforward than that.”_

“You’re already making it very straightforward,” Carolina pointed out. “Anymore than what you already have and it’s going to be too simple to actually _work_.”

Vanessa groaned. “ _I know, I just—I need this to go right. I need people to listen, not just now. Now is easy. I need them to listen in ten years, in twenty, I need—we can’t do this again._ ”

“What do you mean, ‘now is easy’?”

“ _It’s…everyone can be invested in this now. I know it didn’t seem like it, but—we’ve been waiting, since the end of the war, for the other shoe to drop. And now it has, and we_ caught _it, and—it’s not just hope, that you’ve brought us these days._ ” Her voice was warm. “ _It’s confidence. It’s the idea that everyone can share, that ‘I can do this.’ That_ we _can do this, can stand together and accomplish something that will endure and won’t have to fall under bombs or bullets or embargoes. We are something. We mean something, we can_ build _something. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of it?_ ”

Carolina smiled more. “So where’s your nomination going?”

There was a suspicious silence. “ _I…I’ve been thinking about running for Parliament, I suppose. But there are—a lot of people will probably want me to step down as soon as possible. It wouldn’t really be a good precedent, leaving the military in charge_.”

Carolina’s smile slid away as Vanessa laid out her words, tentative and resigned. “That’s not fair. You’ve devoted more time than anyone else, more of your _life_ into making sure this planet will survive. You can’t tell me you would be _happy_ about stepping away from everything.”

“ _I—it’s not about what would make me happy_.”

“Well, why _not_?” Carolina demanded. “Why can’t it just—for once, you…” She couldn’t find the rest of her words.

“Why not?” she asked again, after a solid ten seconds of silence.

“ _I need to get this finalized,”_ Vanessa said, quietly, after another solid ten seconds of silence. “ _What’s your mission status?_ ”

“Only one temple left,” Carolina said, tipping back her head to stare at the leaves above. “Then we’re coming back to base.”

“ _I see_.”

There was quiet for a moment, and then Vanessa said, “ _York has an office now_.”

“He does?” Carolina wasn’t sure where that had come from.

“ _I thought it would be good for him to have space. He’s been hanging around here quite a bit, now that those old rooms he’s been using are starting to fill up. I can find one for you if you need it_.”

“I don’t do that much paperwork.”

“ _Right, of course_ .” The silence hung awkwardly between them for another few heartbeats before Vanessa blurted out, “ _Well. Goodnight,”_ and hung up.

Carolina bit down on a groan, slid down against the tree until she was resting on the ground, and waited for York to finish up whatever he was doing and call her already.

* * *

 

In the end, it was almost anticlimactic, how easily they gave in.

Vanessa had Epsilon use the Communications Temple to broadcast the message directly to the UNSC generals who she had first seen on the other side of a screen almost three months ago. Gowda stood beside her, fully armored, with one of the alien rifles tucked discreetly on her back. Well, as discreetly as a purple spiked gun could be tucked.

They didn’t get more than halfway through their prepared speech before one of the generals cut through the mounting accusations of the rest with _“Enough_.”

It was the woman from last time, the one with short silver hair and a chest full of medals. It was the first time she’d spoken during the call, and her voice was enough to cut off the others.

“ _Clearly, Hargrove cannot deliver on his promises, so continuing to support him is futile.”_ The full force of her gaze turned on Vanessa, who didn’t bother flinching. She’d stared down the man she thought she hated most in the world, half a dozen assassination attempts, and every member of the Reds and Blues at one time or another. This was nothing. _“The blockade will be lifted. Chorus’ status will be updated to disaster zone, qualifying you for all offered aid. Of which there has been…a great deal. You will, in turn, retain the data you have collected and not seek further media attention. Satisfactory?”_

“No.” Vanessa and Gowda spoke as one, this time, and they didn’t even have to exchange glances before Vanessa stepped forward. “I want the UNSC to personally pledge resources towards relief efforts. I want provisions for Chorusian citizens equal to those benefits provided to the survivors of Reach colony. I want a guarantee that there will be no media embargo, and that the Chorus government has the final say on any and all news released to the rest of the galaxy. I want Chorus to be able to set the terms on trading with the wider galaxy for the next twenty years. I want the citizens of Chorus to retain all rights to any current and future assets of the planet. I want a ceremony renewing planetary independence, indefinitely, to take place within the next three years both on Chorus and at the seat of the UEG. And I want it in _writing_.”

There was a very long pause as the council of generals exchanged unreadable glances.

Vanessa waited. She had a reporter on speed-dial, again courtesy of Epsilon and the Communication Temple, waiting to get confirmation on whether she could run the story on Chorus’ rebuilding and new plans for elections, or the one on how the UNSC had taken illegal corporate bribes and conspired to commit genocide in order to skate around the already-fragile treaty with the Sangheili.

She could afford to wait.

* * *

 

Vanessa had refused to let either Carolina or York enter the room with her and Gowda. Only Epsilon was in there, and even then he was only there to run communications, banned from speaking on pain of filing paperwork in digital triplicate for the next six months.

Carolina was starting to get very, very antsy.

 _(“It has to be Chorus, in there. We have to speak for ourselves. If they don’t take us seriously, this is never going to work_.”)

York was holding her hand, tracing the joints in her greaves carefully as they waited for news.

The door slid open, and both of them were on their feet immediately, along with Tucker and Wash and Simmons and Donut. Sarge had never sat down in the first place, and was currently aiming his shotgun at the open door on reflex. Caboose looked up, said “Oh!” and stood up five seconds after everyone else. Grif didn’t bother standing, just raised his head to look.

The heads of the lieutenants were sticking around the corner like they had all piled on top of each other, and everyone’s gazes were fixed on where General Gowda was standing in the doorway, a silent specter in armor.

“…we got it. All of it.”

In the hallway, there wasn’t so much a cheer as there was a sound like everyone letting out a painfully held breath at once. Then Caboose understood what had happened and shouted, “YES! THIS IS WONDERFUL! WE GOT THE PUPPIES!”

Well, Caboose sort of understood what had happened.

* * *

 

The party that followed was as raucous as the first one York remembered, right after he got to Chorus.

Well, he didn’t remember that one particularly well because he had been rather more occupied with finding out Carolina was alive and then having a very emotional conversation, but Delta remembered and could provide evidence of correlating noise levels, rowdiness, and drink flowing.

York thought there might actually be _more_ drink flowing tonight, considering that he could see several of the ducklings tending bar. Someone had even been foolish enough to let Kulkarni in the back, so York made a mental note to avoid that section. Kulkarni seemed to delight in mixing the worst drinks possible, and no one could be entirely sure that he _wasn’t_ adding rubbing alcohol.

The party was definitely loud, but for now York was content to settle back into a corner with Carolina and just watch. They’d seen Vanessa in passing since the announcement—she’d just made a very nice toast—but they hadn’t had the opportunity to really _talk_ to her yet. And both of them could agree that it was time for that.

The crowds parted, just a bit, and York could suddenly catch a glimpse of Vanessa’s puff of hair, just next to Irene’s smooth black bob. He grabbed Carolina’s arm and pointed, just in time for both of them to see Vanessa rub at her head in one of her exhaustion tells before shaking it emphatically.

 _No, no_.

The crowds eddied again, and when they had cleared Irene was still visible, but Vanessa was gone.

* * *

 

Vanessa made her way through the dark hallways of the base, feeling curiously detached.

She should be elated—she _was_ elated—she was tired, she was—

She didn’t know what she was.

They had fought a war for years, worked for the last three months to find this data and put it together—she herself had spent countless hours and pounds of flesh and blood and sweat and tears to put together an ironclad case to prove that they could win this fight.

And now that it was over, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that it had almost been—too _easy_.

She didn’t really know why she was back here, heading towards her office. She didn’t really know why she’d left the party.

No, yes she did. It was because it had been loud and bright and ecstatic, and it deserved to be, which was why she should be somewhere else.

She couldn’t even be _happy_ about this, what was wrong with her? Wasn’t it enough?

Vanessa reached her office and pushed open the door, flicking on the lights and moving behind her desk to sit down.

Her messy desk, left as it had been when she went to the meeting because she had more important things to think about than coming back. Her desk, overflowing with things to do and people that needed her help and crises to be managed. It would be hard and messy and satisfying to complete, and it would do _so much good,_ but right now she just…couldn’t feel motivated.

In the morning. In the morning, she’d work on her endless list of things that needed to be done.

She decided to stay anyways, here in her safe, messy office. It was quiet enough. A place to breathe, in an empty corner of the base. Almost better than going back to her room. Her very cold and lonely and empty room, where the whole time she would be thinking about—

There was a knock on her door, and it was such a familiar thing that Vanessa was blurting out, “It’s open!” before she could stop herself.

The door slid open to reveal, of all people, York and Carolina, holding hands.

That strange feeling that had been lurking in her chest since the end of the call, the lump that felt like all the things she should be celebrating had locked together and burrowed down into her sternum and started to expand, got worse.

“Oh.” In the absence of any idea of what was going on, Vanessa fell back into routine. “Did you need something?”

They traded a wry glance before York dropped Carolina’s hand and she moved in first, circling Vanessa’s desk to sit on her left, careful not to disturb her papers. York came in on the other side and dropped to his knees to mess with the rubber duck that had somehow found its way onto a stack of paperwork.

“Not really,” Carolina said, quietly.

“Or, well, sort of,” York pointed out. “We saw you left the party, Irene said you were headed back here.”

“Oh.” Vanessa tried to look away, feeling sheepish, and ended up looking at Carolina, who was studying her with a calm, concerned gaze.

Oh, that wasn’t better.

* * *

 

“We just wanted to check on you,” Carolina said, keeping her voice low and gentle. “Make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine, it’s just…” Vanessa broke eye contact and waved one hand absently. Carolina followed the motion. “You know. Noise, and parties, and all that…”

Carolina let herself reach out and gently, very gently, grab Vanessa’s hand.

It stilled, instantly. “...excitement,” Vanessa finished, faintly, staring at where Carolina’s hand held hers.

Vanessa drew a sudden breath and darted a glance to the side, where York was watching them, a smile on his face.

It wasn’t like his usual bold, bright grins. This one was soft, and hesitant, like it was asking an unspeakable question.

“Is this okay?” Carolina asked, drawing Vanessa’s attention back to her.

“I…” Vanessa swallowed, but didn’t pull away. “You…should you be…”

Carolina looked her right in the eye, feeling something curl out of her chest and extend out. “Why not?”

She could hear Vanessa exhale, shaky and soft, before she started to lean forward.

It felt right, like landing a perfect maneuver, like her mag-boots locking onto a plane, the way they pulled forward into each other’s orbits. Something slow and inevitable in the curve of her spine, the arch of their necks, the shape of her lips—

They met in the middle, and it was something awkward for a moment, before they found an alignment and it felt like coming home.

* * *

 

York waited until Vanessa had pulled back, catching her breath, and until Carolina’s eyes had opened, something hesitant and cautious and oh, so bright, before he set down the duck, stood up, and laid one hand on Vanessa’s free wrist.

His fingers extended over hers in a silent question, and he let himself avoid her eyes, instead counting the freckles on her nose and trying to find the place where her dimples disappeared into her cheeks. He tilted his head to one side, cautiously, before leaning in.

He waited for her to pull back, to flinch, to hesitate, any sign that he needed to stop, but he leaned down and she leaned up and their teeth clacked together and their lips met and _oh_.

York couldn’t tell if the sigh came from him, or Vanessa, or Carolina, or all three of them or even the air itself. He just knew there was a sigh.

* * *

 

Vanessa’s chest clenched with something unspoken and unspeakable as she leaned back down in her chair, one hand still gripping Carolina’s and the other loosely intertwined with York’s, and she tried to pull herself into the present and understand _what the hell was happening_.

“I…” That sentence didn’t really want to come out. “You…” Neither did that one. She swallowed, still feeling the pressure on her lips, and tried one more time. “Both of you?”

“Yeah,” York said, quietly. She could see Carolina’s nod out of the corner of her eye. “Is…is that…” He trailed off, and she could see that they were just as unsure as she was.

“Oh, _good_ ,” was all she managed to get out before surging to her feet and seizing York for another kiss, because he was closest.

Carolina’s laugh in her ears seemed to beat in time with her thundering heartbeat, and she let herself twine her fingers more tightly with the other woman’s hand and squeeze.

Of course. Why not?

* * *

 

They made it out of Vanessa’s office that night—she chivvied them out quite firmly after about the third round of swapping kissing partners, because as she put it, “Bed.”

It wasn’t a particularly eloquent argument, but it was a convincing one.

The next morning, Vanessa wandered into her office much later than usual, grinning.

That had been happening all morning. She wasn’t really sure how to make it stop.

Irene wasn’t at her desk, but when Vanessa opened up her office, it was rather obvious that she’d been and gone already. Someone had had to let in the people who’d hung a giant banner reading “CONGRATULATIONS” over her desk, after all.

She tried not to laugh, failed, and ended up just grabbing her datapad off the table and heading out to find somewhere else to work.

The banner was making it hard to focus on building her campaign platform.

* * *

 

York entered the duckling room with a whistle on his lips, a spring in his step, and a pile of paperwork in his arms.

He set it on the table with a thump and paused to survey the room. It had been good to them, but it was definitely too small. Moving forward, they were going to need more space. And they couldn’t be based here, after all. Not central to operations at all.

Well, no one really knew where ‘central’ on the new Chorus was going to be, but this still wasn’t it.

The ducklings had all, more or less, assembled within ten minutes. A couple of them looked like they were nursing hangovers. A couple more had streaks of paint on their hands and couldn’t suppress grins.

Sampson gave him a thumbs up. Sastry just looked utterly serene.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today…” York began, because why not. He saw several eye rolls and chuckled. “Or not, but. Well. I guess I could have told you this earlier, but I wanted to make sure I had everything together that I needed.”

They didn’t look suspicious anymore when he made ominous announcements, which was a shame. This should help put them on their toes.

“But anyway, as soon as you all sign these, you will officially be the founding members and senior staff of Chorus’ brand-new official intelligence agency. Congratulations.”

There was a sputter from somewhere in the ranks. Was that a hangover cure going around?

“What,” Thakkar said, flatly, speaking for the group.

“ _What?_ ” Russo demanded, louder.

“As soon as you sign these, you’ll be the founding members of Chorus’ official government intelligence agency,” York repeated, enunciating carefully. “Basically, you’ll do what you’re already doing, but for actual money and an official job. We’ll get an office building, it’ll be great.”

The older ones looked like they thought this might not be a terrible plan, but there were some worried faces among the younger ducklings. Alcala, in particular, was gripping the pile of string she’d produced from somewhere very tightly.

“What did you think I was training all of you up for?” York asked, not unkindly.

“Not _this,_ ” Mohamed pointed out. He’d healed well from his encounter with Flynt Coal, but there was still a scar down the side of his cheek that York knew he would have for a long time.

York sighed and leaned back against the table. “Look, if you—if _any_ of you—don’t want to join? I won’t make you.” He gestured at the door. “You can walk right back out the door. Get a pension, when the military has the money for it. And I will personally make sure you get priority for the shit I’ve made you put up with. Go to college, get a job, start a business. Become journalists, I bet you’d all be good at that.” He tilted his head, looking at them. They hadn’t moved, still waiting to hear what he’d say. “But this is your planet, your home. I’ve seen the aftermath of colony wars. I’ve _been_ on rebuilding planets, read the reports. It’s going to be a lot messy for a long time. Va—Kimball’s going to need you. I’m going to need you. If you stay, you’ll be in for a lot of work, yes. You’ll be in the thick of things every single day. You’ll know things no one else on the _planet_ does. You’ll do things you never thought you could do. Your lives will be crazy, and busy, and a lot of it will be grueling, thankless work. But I promise that most of it you would never do anywhere else.” He took a deep breath. “The war’s never over. You all know this. There’s always fighting somewhere. Always people losing lives. What we do—what you, each of you, could do—will save lives. I promise you that, too.”

He looked at them all, one by one—charming Sampson with clever fingers, Starks with her bombs and gadgets, Kulkarni who knew how to get all things from all people. Thakkar, and their brain always ticking with plans. Campos juggling a thousand lies and smiling for everyone. Bowers in the shadows behind Ashraf and Wilkinson, two minds bright enough to set the world on fire. Shaikh and Mohamed, quietly watching and waiting until they could turn things upside down. Valdez, who had lived through the war by conserving his energy and hiding his actions. Alcala, who was too young for all of this, really, but played people better than adults three times her age. Russo with her glare and hair pinned back, ready to fight anyone, even him.

Sastry, who hadn’t seemed surprised once since he started talking, and was meeting his gaze with steel and a smile that promised the world she already knew its secrets.

“Yes,” she said, and one by one, the rest of them agreed as well, although Russo muttered, “Because we’re all idiots,” under her breath afterwards.

“Great!” York grinned at them, before tapping the paperwork that was really just whatever he could find lying around, for the appearance. “The files should have been sent to your accounts already. Now then, if you’ll excuse me—I have a _date_.”

He turned around and strolled out of the room, hands in his pockets and whistling.

* * *

 

Carolina woke up late, for once, and found herself shoved to the edge of the bed by the two other people in it.

If it had been just York, she probably would have shoved him back over and reclaimed enough space to sprawl comfortably, but it wasn’t just York and Vanessa’s hair was tickling her neck and she really didn’t want anything to change.

But because she woke up late, every single training room turned out to be busy, which was…great.

Carolina didn’t feel like fighting for space, for once, and she had her own plans to make now that she knew for sure she’d be staying on Chorus, so she headed to the office York had recently claimed to get some work done.

She was halfway through transferring the accounts she’d set up on the run over into something she could actually _use_ when the door creaked open and Vanessa walked in.

“Hey,” Carolina said, smiling at her. “What brings you here?”

Vanessa looked sheepish. “There’s a banner in my office. I thought I’d try and find somewhere else to work, and this seemed…well.”

Just because she could, Carolina leaned over and kissed her nose to make her laugh before leaning back. “What are you working on?”

Vanessa took a very deep breath and sat down on the floor, leaning back against the desk. “It’s…a campaign platform. Gowda said that she’d take the Defense Force, so I’m going to put myself forward for the nomination for Parliament. Even if half the planet wants my head, there are probably enough people who think I can do enough job to earn a seat. I’m not quite ready to step away.”

Epsilon surfaced from the bank statements he’d been looking at to flash some kind of tracking results on Carolina’s datapad with the mental equivalent of a snort. _ <’A seat.’ How long do you think it’ll take her to figure out no one else is even planning to run for Prime Minister?> _

Carolina shrugged, watching Vanessa work. _ <Oh…give it a month or so.> _

They spent a very peaceful hour together, both of them working on their separate projects, before York came along to knock on the door.

“Ready to go?” he asked, eyes bright.

“Go where?” Carolina asked, looking up. She had to nudge Vanessa with her foot before she also looked up, blinking and confused.

“Did I not…no, guess I didn’t. We’re having a picnic date, come on.”

Along with forgetting to tell them, it seemed York had also forgotten to get food, so the first stop was swinging by the mess hall to actually collect things that could be a picnic. Carolina made a beeline for where the weird bottled juices someone stockpiled for people to use after training were, and was deliberating between green and purple when she heard a shout.

She looked up in alarm, but it turned out to just be Donut, who was hugging a very bewildered York and shrieking with delight.

Tucker was also there, clapping Vanessa on the back and giving Carolina a thumbs-up from across the room.

Carolina tried not to laugh. It would only encourage them.

When she heard Vanessa shout, “That was _you?!_ ” though, her composure broke and she set down both bottles and let herself laugh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT THESE DORKS, FINALLY KISSING. GOOD FOR THEM.  
> Huge, HUGE thanks to [ Apples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceApples/pseuds/TheAceApples) for the beta! I owe you dozens.  
> Art by [adobewanphotobi](adobewanphotobi.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, go shower her with lots of lovely compliments because HOT DAMN does she deserve them, I've had this art set as my background for the past few months to motivate me to write this. THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING IT WAS SO AWESOME TO WORK WITH YOU.  
> This chapter is brought to you by the Achievement Hunter minecraft videos that I had playing in the background and plundered for pirate names, as well as the Ballroom Thieves song "Bees" that I played on loop while writing the kissing scenes.  
> I thought the epilogue worked out better as its own chapter, so I'm posting it right after this and I'll save my gushing and weeping and ranting for the end notes there.  
> (.....oh god oh god it's _done._ )


	6. Epilogue: Love, let us rest in this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later, a reporter goes to a very fancy party.

**One Year Later**

“Ms. Andrews!” The Prime Minister of Chorus smiled as she swept forward in welcome. “Thank you for coming, I really can’t tell you how much we appreciate you being here to cover this.”

The representatives from the United Earth Government had given Dylan some skeptical looks for showing up to a formal event in full armor, but the inhabitants of Chorus had yet to bat an eye. It was refreshing, she had to admit.

“It was my pleasure, Minister. What you’ve done with this planet in a year is really incredible.”

“Give us ten, and we’ll really blow you away,” she said, sounding excited at the prospect. “And please, call me Kimball.”

“Do you plan to still be Prime Minister in ten years?” Dylan asked her, still in interview mode. “Off the record, of course,” she added when Kimball hesitated.

Kimball raised one eyebrow in polite disbelief before saying, “Well, I plan to keep working for and helping the people of Chorus until they have to drag me away in a box, but term limits exist for a reason. Really, I just have faith in the people of this planet, and their voice and their strength and ability to rebuild.”

“Very eloquent.”

They made some more polite small talk before Kimball had to go be political with another group of people, leaving Dylan to stand back and watch the room.

She had meant what she said—in the year since the blockade had ended, Chorus had managed an incredible recovery. Dylan’s first and foremost interest in the story had been for its relation to the Reds and Blues, and then she had received a mysterious communication offering her the chance to break a story about corruption in the UNSC. That had fallen through, but she had continued to monitor and report on the situation, which meant she was here to do a story on the first renewal of planetary independence ceremony on Chorus.

Her interest in the planet meant that she had seen the first pictures to come out of the destruction after the war ended.

It was hard to believe that this ballroom, in the capital building in New Armonia, stood on the same site as the shattered crater Dylan had seen in pictures from the year before.

She hadn’t had to write fluff society pieces for years, now, but she could still appreciate the aesthetics of it and follow the way people were orbiting each other. There was a crowd around the Prime Minister, of course, even though she hadn’t seemed to notice, instead opting to circle and drift between groups. Another crowd had formed around the representatives from the UEG, who were all darting glances around the room. One of them was trying and failing to be subtle as they gawked over at where a man in a suit with an orange tie was dunking a cheeseburger into a chocolate fountain. Or maybe they were gawking at his companion, who had cybernetics running down the left side of his face, complete with a glowing red eye.

Dylan had an interview with Grif and Simmons tomorrow. She could wait until then to talk.

Close to the governmental representatives was a small delegation from the UNSC, who had remained gathered in a cluster since the start of the gala. The head of the planetary Defense Force was standing nearby, holding a glass of champagne in a rather intimidating manner with her hand on another woman’s arm.

No love lost there, then. Nor between the UNSC and the group of Sangheili diplomats and scientists on the other side of the ballroom, decked out in their ceremonial armor. It made for an odd contrast to the formal wear of the human contingent, especially as Kimball approached them in her gauzy cream evening dress.

They should at least respect the scars it bared on her arms, Dylan knew. Reporting on alien relations wasn’t her sphere, but she had read more than a few think-pieces on how well the Sangheili seemed to be integrating on Chorus, which had developed a strong warrior culture of its own in the past few decades. Dylan had seen a great many people displaying their scars tonight.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?”

Dylan looked to the side to find that, as though to continue her train of thought, a man with an impressive scar of his own over a blank left eye socket had come up and was contemplating the floor of the room. He was wearing an elegant one-shouldered mermaid dress with an excessive amount of gold sequins.

Something about his face was almost familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“It really is.” She held out one hand to him. “Sorry, I think we may have met before, but I can’t quite recall your name. Dylan Andrews, Galactic News.”

“Oh, that’s fine, half the time I can’t remember it either,” he said cheerfully, taking her hand and giving it a comfortable shake. “York Foxtrot. Not really affiliated with any company these days, but I did help plan the party.”

 _Now_ she could place him—she’d seen his pictures in the one tabloid she allowed to cross her newsfeed, just for a laugh.

He was married to Agent Carolina, although apparently there was a question of whether they were actually married or just claiming it for convenience’s sake. The rumors about him ranged from “UNSC spy” to “airhead trophy spouse” to “former Freelancer.” Court of public opinion seemed to be in his favor, just by virtue of the fact that Carolina seemed genuinely happy with him, and as far as the citizens of Chorus was concerned, anything that made one of their heroes happy was a good thing.

Dylan didn’t _say_ any of this, of course, but she did tell him, “Well, it came off great.”

“Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. I thought I’d just come talk to you, since you looked like you could use a conversation partner. What do you think of Chorus?”

“It’s fantastic, really. And I’m fine over here—I’ve been interviewing people for most of today and I’ll be doing it for the next few days as well. I was just enjoying the quiet, for once.”

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it, then! Sorry to disturb you.” York flashed her a grin and moved off into the crowd, drifting between groups and gossip with the ease of a practiced host.

Dylan followed the large, slow motion of the crowd for a while, and then caught sight of another figure lurking at the edges, in an elegant sea foam ball gown with paler blue detailing.

She’d be doing that interview tomorrow as well. She really shouldn’t…

Oh, what the hell.

“Agent Carolina?” she asked, approaching. “My name is Dylan Andrews, I’m with the Galactic News group. We met once before, a few years ago.”

They shook hands, and Carolina nodded. “You wrote the article that got everyone’s attention. _Colorful Space Marines Stop Corruption,_ wasn’t it?”

Dylan winced. “The headline was…not mine. I was hoping for something a little more serious.”

“Well, it suited the subjects. Are you here for the renewal ceremony?”

They chatted for a bit, Dylan doing her best to restrain herself—she’d have a chance to do a proper interview tomorrow, this was all about establishing a relationship. The conversation had mostly trickled out in pleasantries when the light background music came to a halt and was replaced by something more suitable for dancing. Carolina looked up and snorted. “Oh, this should be good.”

Dylan turned to look, and was privy to the sight of York leading a laughing Kimball out to the dance floor. The Prime Minister was shaking her head, but following anyways and allowed York to lead her around the floor in a few broad circles before pulling away to return to conversation. York looked up at them and waved to Carolina, who lifted one hand in acknowledgement before turning back to Dylan.

“It was good to speak with you, but I should go dance with my date before he leaves me for Vanessa.” Her grin took any possible real fear out of the words. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the interview.”

“Looking forward to it,” Dylan said, trying not to analyze Carolina’s words too much. That would be unprofessional.

Carolina moved elegantly across the floor towards her maybe-husband, who met her in the middle and let her pull him into a dance. The two of them were quickly the center of attention—both very athletic, both with a certain grace of movement that translated well to dancing.

In particular, Dylan noticed Kimball was watching them both very closely.

After the dance had ended, the two of them left the floor, arm in arm and smiling. They met up with Kimball at the edge of the crowd, moving into place on either side of her as she went back to charming the diplomats.

For a moment, Dylan let her visor zoom in on the three of them and their personal orbits, instead of the wider room, and there was something in the way they moved together that made her think of those tabloids that were too terrible to even read for a laugh, the ones speculating on whether York or Carolina was cheating on the other with Kimball and all of the unflattering reasons why. Made her think that _maybe_ they were on to something, just weren’t thinking broadly enough…

But Dylan didn’t write for gossip columns, and that kind of thing was extremely unprofessional for her to get involved with irregardless, so instead she went off to talk to the intimidating woman in a suit with blue-streaked hair who looked like she knew a lot of secrets.

The sound of laughter in three-part harmony drifted faintly over the crowd behind her.

* * *

 

_For what’s unguessed_

_Will have such shape and sweetness as the knowing_

_Ruins with pour of knowledge. From one bird_

_We guess the tree, and hear the song; but if_

_Miraculous vision gives us, all at once,_

_The universe of birds and boughs, and all_

_The trees and birds from which their time has come,-_

_The world is lost…_

_Love, let us rest in this._

 

 _-Conrad Aiken,_ Preludes for Memnon, _Verse XIII_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carolina and Kimball's dresses inspired by [this art](http://sroloc--elbisivni.tumblr.com/post/164801044664/marvelsasses-pretty-girls-in-pretty-dresses) by marvelsasses. York's dress [here.](https://www.dhresource.com/0x0s/f2-albu-g4-M00-BF-F7-rBVaEVf4bxyAGBNhAAhePzJ1d3I561.jpg/one-shoulder-mermaid-prom-dress-2017-gold.jpg)
> 
> Well. Here we are, seven months after posting and almost a full year since I started writing this in earnest. Holy fuck, it's done, it's really done.  
> I mean, I have maybe one or two one-shot ideas I might bring to fruition one day, but the story? Is DONE. 
> 
> Lot of people to thank, so let's get to it! (feel free to stop reading now if you don't care but this is basically a novel, i'm thanking whoever i want to thank)  
> First, Apples ( [ thefreelancerdivision ](thefreelancerdivision.tumblr.com) on Tumblr) for the beta job, again!
> 
> [Adobewanphotobi](adobewanphotobi.tumblr.com), whose gorgeous art for this fic will never ever fail to make me smile. Thank you, so much, I couldn't imagine this without you.  
> The RvB fic war mods for setting all this up in the first place! You guys rock. Thanks for all you give to this corner of the fandom.
> 
> Conrad Aiken, for writing bomb-ass poetry, and my dad, for incidentally introducing me to him. Also, all of you who have put up with my love for obscure 20th-century poetry. 
> 
> Nota7! Who has commented on every chapter! Like a goddamn champ! I live for your comments.
> 
> My mother, even though she's probably never going to read this, because she's listened to me ramble about this story despite not knowing a damn thing about RvB and having it filtered through the lens of "this character and this other character and this other other character, and this planet that they're rebuilding while they fall in love." Love ya, mom. 
> 
> Iz, who has given me writing advice and inspiration in equal turns and helped me nail down the Grif characterization in that one scene. You rock.
> 
> Thanks to every one of you who looked at the summary and went, "eh, why not."
> 
> And last, but never, ever least--Steph. Because whether we start counting at you letting me plot-rant about this fic, you letting me build off of How to Heal, us dreaming up this leaky canoe of an OT3 over skype, or even you introducing me to this trash show and all of these color coded nerds in the first place--this fic wouldn't exist without you. Thanks, dear.
> 
> As always, if you want to know more about this story, or about what I think of these dorks, or to just yell at me for something--you can find me through the comment box below (i promise to be better about replying this time) or on [ Tumblr! ](sroloc--elbisivni.tumblr.com)


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